


Monster

by IndigoUmbrella



Series: Monster [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-17 05:32:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 36
Words: 66,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4654203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoUmbrella/pseuds/IndigoUmbrella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Have you ever asked yourself, do monsters make war, or does war make monsters?”<br/>-Laini Taylor</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

My heartbeat thumped in a fast, but steady, rhythm. It was loud enough to drown out the sound of gunfire snapping off in the distance, or the shouts of my friends and team from a nearby alley. All noise faded away, except for the thumping of my heart and a sharp, persistent ringing in my left ear. I sat with my back pressed against the remains of a brick wall, doing everything I could to try and steady my heart to ease the panic. The sky was still raining debris and ash, and the rifle across my lap felt heavy with the weight of guilt and the fear of what I would have to do to survive.

I'd been training for this moment for years. I knew how to use the rifle. I knew how to follow orders and come out alive on the other side. But nothing prepared me for the feel of real battle. Not after watching two of my closest friends die right in front of my eyes, their blood was still splattered on my skin, and my heartbeat thumped wildly from fear and adrenaline. I wondered if I could have saved them. If I’d just used her gun when I had the chance. If I hadn’t frozen.

That was when I knew for sure I was going to die. It was pointless and silly to believe I’d somehow make it out of this alive. The rifle trembled in my hands, and my breathing was shaky and uneven. I knew, without a doubt, that I’d probably die before I ever fired a single round. But I couldn’t just sit there and wait for death to find me. I’d already taken refuge behind a wall like a coward. The knowledge of my impending death seemed to give me a burst of confidence. I was going to die whether I took a stand or not, but I wasn’t going to die hiding behind a wall.

So I stood to my feet and winced as pain shot through my body like a zip of electricity. The blast had knocked me several yards away. I didn’t think anything was broken but certainly bruised and scraped. Everything ached and burned, and I could already feel blood seeping out of my ear and sliding down my neck. When they found my body, I’d probably be in pieces, but at least they’d know I wasn’t hiding and crying behind a wall.

I used the unsteady bricks to push myself up and cautiously searched the courtyard for a sign of movement or a place to run. A man appeared from behind the haze of smoke and ash and instantly spotted me. He had his gun raised in my direction before I could even draw breath. It was too late to dive back behind the wall, and my fingers gently stroked the trigger of my rifle. All the while, my thoughts raced, and my heart pumped. I argued with the voice in my mind, telling me what I had to do, telling me not to think about it. They’d killed people. I watched a child die. The least I could do was take one of them out with me.

But I hesitated, and he wasn’t going to wait for me to make up my mind. He fired first and met his mark on the first shot. My left shoulder exploded with pain, and I tumbled backward into the crumbled cement blocks, until I was flat on my back, staring up at a smoky blue sky.

I wasn’t supposed to die like that. It wasn’t until that very moment that I realized just how short my life had been. All the things I’d never done or get to do. I’d never fall in love or get married or have a family like my mother wanted. I spent my life telling myself I didn’t want those things, but now that I knew it would never be an option, it stung. Death wasn’t as easy to accept as I thought it would be.

The sound of a loud beeping broke through the ringing in my ears. I blinked, and instead of the smoke-filled sky, I saw the ceiling of my bedroom. The tree outside the window made shadows on the walls that twisted like the scars on my skin. I took a deep breath and counted my now steady heartbeats. One, two. Three, four. Then I reached up to rub the damaged skin on my shoulder, where the bullet had struck me and left behind a web of scars that looked like twisted pink branches.

The bones still ached from time to time, and I could even recall that sharp blast of pain like it had only just happened. I remembered feeling like my entire arm had been torn off. I remembered the feeling, no the knowledge, that I was going to die. I mourned all the things I’d never have.

The alarm grew louder the longer I ignored it. So I rolled onto my side and slammed the palm of my hand against the button on the top. The beeping halted, and the silence filled my ears with that familiar low ringing. Then the wind blew and made the old windows creak and howl like wailing ghosts. The twisted shadows moved along with the sound and reminded me that my hearing hadn’t taken significant damage. The ringing was from the silence, and not because I’d been on the receiving end of a grenade toss.

I sat up and pulled the covers off of my bare legs. The wood floor against my feet was sharp and cold, and the chill prickled my skin. Summer was approaching, but I was always so cold. As if my body just never recovered from all the blood I’d lost.

The memories were getting bad again. When I first got home, they almost consumed me. To the point where I hadn’t just accepted death as an inevitability, but eagerly welcomed it. For a while, I’d made enough progress with therapy to make the memories less intrusive and sharp. I thought for a time that recovery might still be within sight and I could get to work on building the life I almost lost. But I never did it. Recovery always remained just out of my grasp, and I never bothered to try and reach for something I didn’t think I deserved.

The girl who walked out onto a battlefield that day felt like a stranger to me now. I'd been dealing with dreams and intrusive thoughts for six years, and it was hard to imagine a time when they didn’t plague me. I had vague memories of happiness and confidence, but now it felt like something I’d watched in a movie. Something I’d seen but couldn’t relate to. The bubbly teenage girl who’d shipped out from Ohio was not the same woman sitting in a bed in DC running her fingers over puckered pink scars and making no plans for the future beyond the day that lay ahead.

My therapist always told me that perseverance was one step closer to recovery. I was good at persevering, even if I’d never get the hang of recovery. Of course, in the end, none of that mattered. My therapist had been working for Hydra all that time, but I was looking for any scrap of motivation to convince myself not to crawl back into bed.

I took a hot shower to wash the chill out of my bones and relieve some of the aches in my shoulder muscles. I ran my fingers over the scars as I stood beneath the water, getting familiar with them again.

They told me I was lucky to be hit in the shoulder. The bullet tore through some muscle and lodged itself in me, but it managed to miss major arteries and merely skimmed my bones. If I’d been hit anywhere else, I probably very well would have met death that day. But I hated when they told me that. My chest was armored, but my face was exposed. The shooter could have hit my chest to knock me out. I would have avoided years of tormenting pain, both physically and mentally. And a shot to the face would have just ended it all.

Everyone thought he’d just missed, but I could never get myself to agree. I saw the look on his face right before he pulled the trigger, and though my mind couldn’t bring up any specific features or details about him, he knew what he was doing. A shot to my chest was too risky. It might have knocked me out if he was lucky, but given our distance in that courtyard, the reality is that he would have just given me enough motivation to fire back. And since he hadn’t aimed for my face, I determined that he never wanted to kill me at all.

We were in the middle of war, and he had a chance to take out an enemy. But he didn’t. He aimed for my shoulder and only removed me from the playing field. It was the one piece of the puzzle that never seemed to fit.

The sun was starting to rise when I finally made my way down to the kitchen on the first floor of my small house. I decided to forgo breakfast and packed my coffee in a shiny silver mug with the SHIELD logo on the side. I stuck a packet of crackers between my lips to fill my stomach before the day started and looked at the counter where I’d left a pink switchblade sparkling on the tile.

It was a gag gift from my sister Clara. She’d bedazzled it herself. It was a joke to the people who didn’t start to shake whenever they held a gun. Clara thought it was an accurate representation of who I used to be and who I was now. I laughed the first time I saw it. I never thought I’d use it at all, let alone that someday I’d have to use it to fight off Hydra agents in a chaotic office. Somehow it became my weapon of choice. It wasn’t as fatal as a gun, but it was still a decent weapon. Despite the shiny rhinestones glued to the pink handle. So I snatched it off of the counter and slid it into my pocket before working up the courage to leave my house for the first time in days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like this. I hope to get updates out regularly. I'm really excited for some Bucky-ness. Also, this story is like a burnt crispy marshmallow. Soft and gooey in the center. But a bit charred on the edges. I hope you read it and I hope that you like it. :D


	2. Chapter 2

Whatever was left of the triskelion was in shambles. I managed to make it through the interrogation process for the simple fact that I was a level one agent, openly fought against Hydra with a sparkly pink knife and had a history with Colonel Talbot of US Special Forces. I’d been cleared quickly, though I wasn’t convinced they weren’t keeping an eye on me just to be sure.

After the fall of SHIELD, I was having a difficult time finding another job. Tony Stark offered me a position almost immediately after the event, and I’d considered it a great deal. But I wasn’t ready to leave my life in DC just yet, and I wasn’t sold on the idea of having a job given to me out of charity. Accepting Stark’s job would mean I’d have to move to New York. I’d have to live close to my sister again, and I didn’t want Clara to see the way I was struggling just to keep my head up.

I still had a mortgage to pay, though, and a car. And despite the fact that the triskelion was swarmed with military personnel and construction crews, I decided to go back for what was left of my belongings anyway. If only because I needed the laptop to find a new job. At least that’s what I told myself when I got the idea to go back.

The front courtyard was empty when I walked through it. I remembered the way the sunlight used to sparkle through the glass ceiling and the place would be crawling with agents and office personnel. It felt so lonely when the only other life forms were the birds that came in through the shattered ceiling.

There were two uniformed soldiers in the front lobby when I stepped in. I made a move for the blinking elevator bank, and one of them jumped forward to block my way. I was half a foot shorter than him, and he stood with his hand hovering over his gun as if he meant to intimidate me.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“To get my stuff,” I replied.

“What stuff? There’s nothing left? How’d you get cleared?”

I looked him straight in the eye. I was far from intimidated and running on an empty stomach. I hadn’t gotten much sleep, and the coffee only served to make me jittery and irritated. I’d waited long enough to go back for the things that rightly belonged to me, and I had nothing to hide. I may have done Hydra’s dirty work, but I hadn’t done it intentionally.

“I’m former agent Johanna Hayes. I’m also Special Forces and your superior. I’ve been cleared by Colonel Talbot personally, and I came to get my personal belongings. If that’s a problem for you, please give the Colonel a call. I’m sure he wants to know I picked up my family photos.”

He gave a huff and turned to his companion. The other guard appeared far less interested in me. He was lounging behind the security desk with his legs propped up on the top of it. He gave nothing but a shrug and didn’t bother to reopen his eyes after his initial once over. I didn’t find them intimidating, and they apparently felt the same way about me.

“Talbot already cleared her. Let her go. He’s too busy to care,” he said. The soldier turned back to me and stepped away.

“We’ll be watching you—Agent,” he said with a vaguely threatening tone. I held my head high and pushed passed him.

Even though I had a desk job and did nothing but paperwork all day long, my office had been hit hard. A great deal of the paperwork was compromised, and the government was scrambling to assemble everything and link whatever they could to Hydra. Papers had been scattered across the floors, and the office felt eerily silent.

I had to do a dance around the rubble and mess to get to my chair at the cubicle bank closest to the windows. Then I plopped down and looked over the courtyard below. I remembered sitting there the day Captain America crashed through the ceiling in the courtyard and managed to hop right back up onto his feet. It was the moment I began to suspect something big was going to happen. My hunch was right. And now I was out of a job and had less to look forward to than I usually did.

I took another sip of my coffee and got to work emptying drawers and tossing useless files and paperwork onto the floor. I dug through my desk and sorted out what belonged to me and what didn’t, what I wanted to keep, and what I didn’t care about.

Two more soldiers came around and questioned me, but quickly determined I posed no threat and let me get back to work. I had my hands in the bottom drawer of my desk when the phone in my pocket began to buzz. So I pulled it out and looked down at the text from an unknown number.

“Agent Hayes, this is Commander Hill. I have a mission for you,” the text said. I looked up to see if the soldiers were still watching me, but they were distracted by a conversation now and no longer seemed to care that I was there.

I'd seen Hill several times during my employment with SHIELD, but I’d never formally met her. The woman always appeared cold and indifferent, and I was so low on the SHIELD hierarchy that we never had a reason to meet. But there was no more SHIELD, so my curiosity was piqued.

“I’m listening,” I texted back. Hill’s response came just a second later.

“Meet me in the basement in interrogation room four. Take the stairs, don’t use your badge.”

“I’ll be right there.”

My phone went silent again. I stood and swept a strand of light brown hair out of my face. I didn’t know what Hill could want from me, but Hill knew I was in the building and still referred to me as an agent even though I was unemployed. So I lifted my now heavy bag and swung it back over my shoulder to leave.

I never had a reason to go to the interrogation rooms before. I’d done tours of the buildings several times, but my job was easy, and the doors to the interrogation rooms were set to deny my access. Thankfully, I didn’t have to worry about it. When I left the stairwell, I found a man standing in the hall waiting for me.

“Hayes,” he said when I approached. I nodded to him, recognizing him from the battle against Hydra.

“Wilson,” I replied.

He held the door open to let me into the hallway and then I followed him down the windowless corridor until he reached interrogation room four. He gave the door a quick tap with his knuckles and pushed it open. I nearly tripped over my feet when I saw the group waiting for me inside. Agent Hill stood at the end of a single aluminum table, Agent Romanoff sat in a chair beside her, and Captain Rogers occupied the space on her other side. I felt almost like a lamb being led into a wolf’s den.

“Have a seat,” Hill instructed. Wilson closed the door, and I sat down across from Rogers.

“What’s going on?” I asked as I set my bag down against a table leg.

“We had a few questions for you.”

“I’ve already been interrogated by Special Forces. Was there something wrong with the investigation?”

“No, we were just curious about how you got cleared so fast.”

“I got cleared because there was nothing on me. I was a level one agent. I never did anything beyond filing papers. I had no access to Project Insight or Hydra databases.”

“Are you working for Talbot now?”

“I’m not working for anyone. I’m jobless, remember?”

“Stark didn’t offer you a job?”

“Of course he did. I didn’t accept.”

“Why not?” I looked back at Hill and narrowed my eyes. Even if Hill was interrogating me, I didn’t think she deserved that right. Hill worked for Stark now, as far as I knew, and if Stark wanted to know something, all he had to do was call.

“Last I checked I didn’t work for you. If this is another interrogation, then let me call my lawyer before you ask any more questions. Also, it helps just to be straight with me. I’m usually more compliant that way. I’m not, and never was Hydra. My reason for not accepting Stark’s offer is my business.”

“This isn’t an interrogation. It’s an interview,” Rogers said from across the table.

I looked up to meet his bright blue eyes. He was dressed like a civilian but looked tense and ready to jump into action at the first sign of trouble. He still had healing wounds and bruises on his face. He looked exhausted and uncomfortable in the confined room.

“Interview for what?” I asked. Then Hill slapped a manila folder down on the metal table in front of me. “I don’t speak Russian.”

“I’ve included translations. Open it,” Hill said.

I opened the file and looked at the first page. A large photo was attached to the inside cover. The image of a man with his eyes closed was frosted behind glass. There was a second photo attached to the file by a paperclip. This time it showed a man in an old military uniform. I ran my fingers over the glossy print and removed it from the paperclip.

“Sergeant James Barnes,” I said, reading the name on the translations.

“Bucky,” Rogers informed me. “I always called him Bucky.”

“He’s also known as the Winter Soldier,” Romanoff explained from the other end of the table. I cut my eyes to the woman slouched in the next chair.

“The Winter Soldier?” I repeated out loud. The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place the memory.

“The Winter Soldier is a person, and if you accept this job, he’s also going to pay your bills.” My eyes widened, and I looked back at the woman with confusion.

“What do you want me to do? Find him?”

“No,” Rogers said. “He’s going to be impossible to find. And he’s not—himself. He doesn’t know who he is. Your mission won’t be to find him because you won’t succeed. Your mission would be to help me bring him out of the shadows.”

I never thought I’d see the day when someone like Captain America would ask my help for anything. Not when he had friends like Romanoff, Wilson, and Hill at his side. Or his gang of super buddies. I was good at my job, but I had no particular talents. I was good at flinging knives at targets. I could stitch a wound with speed and accuracy. But I wasn’t a killer. I couldn’t even pull a trigger. My only claim to fame was that I was on a first name basis with Tony Stark.

“James Barnes has undergone decades of brainwashing,” Romanoff explained as she stretched her arms across the table. “Born in 1917 in Indiana. Father was a soldier. He and Rogers grew up together in Brooklyn. Captured by Hydra in World War Two while on active duty in the 107th. Rogers rescued him from a Hydra facility, and he was a co-founder of the Howling Commandos. He was believed to be the only Commando to die in service. Until he resurfaced as the Winter Soldier.

“He’s had a hand in numerous assassinations stretching back decades. Including the recent events over DC. When Rogers rescued him, they’d been experimenting on him. Whatever they did to him is likely similar to what was done to Rogers. This allowed him to survive a fall from a high altitude. But he’s been manipulated by Hydra. He has a bionic metal arm. He’s dangerous on a good day. But now he’s probably confused on top of all that. Now that Hydra has been dismantled, he’s gone AWOL.

“No one knows where he is or how to flush him out of hiding. We do know that he’s now aware of his connection to Steve, and we think it’s a possibility he might come back around to gather more information. We’re hoping he goes to Rogers first.”

“So what does that have to do with me?” I asked her. Romanoff gave me a quick once-over as if coming to a conclusion about something. But whatever she was thinking, she kept to herself.

“We need to create an environment that allows Barnes to reach out to Rogers. Barnes is a soldier, an assassin. He’s like a ghost. And we think he’s going to tail Rogers before he makes a move. He’s not going to show himself if Steve is surrounded by government officials. So we need to set up a safe place. Somewhere Steve can regularly visit that Barnes won’t have had prior access to. Someplace with a very minimal amount of government surveillance.”

“I still don’t understand what this has to do with me.”

“Talbot doesn’t view you as a threat. And as long as he believes that, he’s not going to keep eyes on you. We need Steve to have a reason to visit our designated safe space on a regular basis. It has to be private and dark. So we thought a girlfriend would be the perfect cover. We can make your place seem welcoming and threat free so that Barnes will feel comfortable showing himself there. But we also wanted someone we could trust. Someone with a basic understanding of medical procedures and military strategy. At the very least, someone who could hold her own in a fight if need be.”

I couldn’t stop myself from smiling in disbelief. “Against a super-soldier with a robotic limb?” I asked with an exasperated laugh. I ran my hands over my face. “You guys did read my files, didn’t you? You know I can’t shoot a gun. I’m barely over five feet tall. I don’t know what you think I’m capable of, but I can assure you I’m not what you’re looking for.”

“We don’t want you to have any weapons while under-cover. Barnes will sniff them out immediately. We can probably let you keep the cute knife though.” I dropped my head into my hands and rubbed the ache from my eyes. “Chances are Barnes isn’t going to show up if Steve isn’t there,” Romanoff continued. “But he’s not going to show himself at Steve’s apartment while he’s being watched. He’ll follow Steve to a safe place, and since Steve never goes anywhere, we figured a girlfriend was a good reason to get him out of the house. It’ll give him a place he can occasionally spend the night. It would be a place where he felt comfortable. Without government tabs or threats. Barnes will want to get in and out without being noticed.”

I opened my eyes and picked up the smaller photo again. “Why me?” I asked then. “Why not another cleared agent? Why not you or Agent 13 or even Hill?”

“Because your house fits the environment, you’re the right age, and you’re cute enough to make it believable. Talbot doesn’t have surveillance on you like he does the rest of us. No offense, Hill, but if Barnes took one look at her, he’d head right back in the other direction.”

“No offense taken,” Hill said.

“And he’s already seen me.”

“Great. Cute,” I said. “Like a bunny rabbit. I’m glad I’m useful for something.”

“You’re a Special Forces Combat Medic, Hayes. Hardly a bunny rabbit. You wouldn’t have been recruited otherwise.”

“So you’re recruiting me because I’m a bunny rabbit with blood on my hands?”

“Because you’re trustworthy and you have the skills and training required to do the job.” I picked up what Romanoff failed to say. I didn’t look like a threat. Barnes would take one look at me and know in a second that he could snap my neck with his pinky finger.

“As long as Barnes doesn’t feel threatened by you,” Romanoff continued, ignoring the insulted curl of my lip, “and your actions don’t become suspicious. Your life shouldn’t be in any danger. Just in case, you know what you have to do to get Barnes down without much assistance. Not a bunny rabbit. A soldier. Just in case, Stark agreed to help out too.”

“Stark is part of this?” I asked as a single eyebrow rose in further disbelief.

“Your sister convinced him.” I nodded slowly. That didn’t surprise me. They had to know I’d be there somehow. Unless I was hired by chance. But I didn't believe that.

“So the plan is that we’re going to set you up with a false identity. Nothing too far from the real you, just in case Talbot gets wind of what we’re doing. The chances are high that Barnes won’t have access to personal records, but we don’t want to make Talbot suspicious by changing your entire identity. Not if we want to keep this quiet and keep Barnes out of government custody. Once we set up the environment and come up with a believable backstory, Steve will start to come around. We want you to act like a couple. Or at least act like you like each other enough for him to spend the night at your house. That way Barnes will think it’s safe to approach and you can alert Stark or us if the situation goes downhill.”

“And if I have to face him alone?”

“Lie. Build your story. We don’t think he’ll ask many questions. But you need to make him believe that you’re trustworthy.”

“And if he gets violent?”

“I heard you’re pretty good with knives.”

I was about to question her further when Rogers interrupted. “Don’t—try not to get violent,” he said. “Don’t kill him.” I turned back to him. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. They had more faith in me than I had in myself. “Please?” I nodded slowly.

“What if he tries to kill me first?” I asked.

“He won’t.”

“He won’t unless you give him a reason,” Romanoff assured me. “Barnes is a tactical thinker. If he’s not on a mission, he won’t risk drawing attention to himself by murdering an unarmed civilian. The only way he’d get violent with you is if he felt threatened by you. Keep him calm, and he won’t lash out. We set up precautions anyway. Stark sent us this prototype.”

She slipped a bracelet off her wrist and set it down on the metal table. It looked like a simple beaded bracelet, but Romanoff lifted one of the beads and showed me the raised design.

“Panic button,” she explained. “Stark offered to let us take it to help you with the mission. If you begin to believe your life is in danger all you have to do is press the button and Stark will have one of us at your door in less than five minutes. Whoever’s closest.” I reached across the table for the bracelet and located the single bead with the raised design.

“I’ll have to send Stark my thanks,” I said slowly. I turned back to Rogers. “So what do you think of this plan?” He held his hand under his chin and looked like someone who really deserved a nap.

“I think it could be dangerous,” he admitted. “But if it helps us get to him before anyone else I think it’s worth trying. I have a lot of faith that Bucky is still in there somewhere. I don’t want anything to get in the way of him reaching out to me.”

“How long are we doing this for?”

“As long as we can, or at least until you decide to back out,” Romanoff answered.

I kept my eyes on Rogers. He was the only one whose opinion I really wanted. Not just because of military instincts, but also because the mission was deeply personal to him. The rest of them were there to locate a potential threat or help out a friend. If he wanted my help, I would give it.

“We’ll set you up with a new job as part of your backstory,” Romanoff continued. “Rogers will help make up the difference between your new job and your previous income.”

“Do you want me to help you, Captain?” I asked him. He waited a moment to study my face before answering.

“I can’t ask you to help. It could be dangerous,” he said.

“I’m not asking for you to give me an order. I want to know if you genuinely want my help.” He took a deep breath and gave a quick short nod. I dropped my head and looked down at the bracelet in my hands. Then I slid it onto my wrist. “I don’t do laundry,” I decided.  
‹ Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, there's no love triangle, I promise.


	3. Chapter 3

It was already mid-afternoon by the time I found my way back home. I walked into the quiet, empty house and dumped my bag on the floor. Even though the silence was deafening, I marched across the living room with determination and fished my phone out of my back pocket.

My sister Clara moved to New York to go to school. Even though we wanted to be closer, we weren’t. Not anymore anyway. Clara and I were marginally different growing up. Clara had always been bright and organized. The kind of girl who knew what she wanted and how to get it, but still managed to stay on a straight and narrow path. I, on the other hand, had been the wild child. It wasn’t that I’d been particularly bad, just that I never knew what I wanted and frequently did things like sneak out at night and ditch classes.

Clara lived in Manhattan in a small apartment she shared with a financial journalist who seemed to be even less organized than me. Though I wasn’t sure Clara spent any time at home anymore since her nights were usually spent in Tony Stark’s penthouse.

Our parents couldn’t have been happier with the arrangement. The Starks were influential figures in our households. When my grandparents immigrated from Sokovia, Howard Stark had run into them quite by accident. The encounter left them with new jobs and one hell of a story, which I'd heard so often I now knew it by heart. Tony Stark, despite his bad reputation and dangerous hobbies, was the perfect match for my older sister.

Until a wormhole opened up above New York City and sent an army of aliens raining down on Stark tower.

I remembered hearing about the attack from my office in DC. I stood in the break room watching the events unfold on the TV. I had a horrible feeling in my gut that I’d just witnessed my sister’s death, and somehow that fact was harder to grasp than the sense of my own impending death. What I didn’t know was that while Tony Stark was in the midst of an intense one-on-one battle with a Chitauri soldier, and losing, Clara had gone at the creature armed with nothing but a staple remover and a fierce tenacity. She’d accidentally yanked out the creature’s breathing apparatus in the scuffle, and it promptly suffocated.

That was the day Tony Stark found his way into our lives, and also the day I decided to stop underestimating my sister.

After the attack, when flights were no longer grounded, I booked the earliest flight into the city to make sure Clara was safe and had a place to stay. Her Manhattan apartment had been decimated, but she didn’t seem all that broken up about it since I found her sitting comfortably in Stark’s penthouse with no bra on under her wrinkled shirt, and hickeys hidden under her collar.

Since then, Stark was doing everything he could to buy her continued affection. Clara never outright admitted that they were dating. At least not in so many words. But they were always together, the media knew they were together, and during the holidays my whole family received ridiculous gifts from Iron Man himself. Quickly followed by an apology from Clara, who found his purchases obnoxious and insulting. Despite the gifts, she really did love him.

The phone I slid out of my back pocket was a gift from Tony, and I refused to send it back because it was made of a thin piece of clear glass and hadn’t been released to the public yet. I quickly commanded the phone to call Clara, and before I knew it, someone was answering on the other line. Just not my sister.

“Hello, you’ve reached the desk of Miss Clara Hayes,” Tony answered in what I assumed was a weak impression of Marilyn Monroe. “I’m afraid Miss Hayes is disinclined at the moment. Would you be so kind as to leave a message?”

“Tony,” I snapped as I kicked off my shoes and got comfortable on the couch. “You know it’s me and you know why I’m calling. Either put my sister on the phone or explain to me why you agreed to help Hill and Romanoff bug my house.”

“Well, for one thing,” he said, dropping the silly voice. “I bugged your house months ago. And two, they said it was to, you know, keep you alive. Which is something I’m interested in doing. Because if I fail to do that, I won’t have anyone to nag me anymore. And you know I love it when she nags.” I sighed and dropped my head on the back of the couch. The day was still young, and I could already feel the beginnings of a headache.

“Just give me the phone,” Clara said in the background.  
Even though it was so early in the day, I wanted to close my eyes and fall asleep right there on the couch. But I knew the sleep wouldn’t come, and if it did, I’d probably be assaulted with nightmares again anyway. Talking to Clara seemed like the right thing to do, so I forced my eyes opened and tried to stay focused as the sound of shuffling came from the phone.

“No, I’m not giving you anything,” Tony said.

“For God’s sake, Tony. Did you really bug my house?” I asked.

“Technically no. But also technically yes? Technically it’s Jarvis and not me. I can’t hear or see you. But I do get alerted to a rise in heart rate and heat signatures. Meaning Jarvis would tell me if someone was in your house or you were scared. That sort of thing.” I squinted at the beams of dust floating through the living room. I wondered how long it had been since Tony set it up. And more importantly, if Jarvis told him the last time I’d had someone in my house. Well—my bedroom.

“Oh—would that mean you could also tell if I was—having sex?”

“Well, I would be able to—if you ever had any.” The phone shuffled again, and he whispered. “I’m joking. But I do know about the nightmares. Don’t worry. I haven’t told her.”

“Well, thanks. I think.”

“No problem. And I’m pretty sure there’s a large rodent living in your attic.”

“His name is Rocket. We’ve made peace. So what do you think of this job, mission thing? What have they told you?”

“They haven’t told me anything. So naturally, I know everything. And I think it’s a stupid idea and you shouldn’t do it. But I also think it’s your business, and you can do whatever the hell you want.”

“I was sort of looking for your opinion,” I told him.

“Well, I’m guessing you already accepted the job. So my opinion is useless.”

“Tony, you’re being just a tad creepy, and you should probably stop. I don’t need you to monitor my house, and I don’t like it when you think you know my decisions.”

“Blame your sister. She’s the one who made me do it.”

“Put her on the phone.”

“Yep.” The phone moved again, and I pressed it to my shoulder so I could pull off my socks and get comfortable.

“Hi, Jo,” Clara finally responded.

“Why did you tell your boyfriend to bug my house?”

“I didn’t ask him to bug your house. He just wanted you to be connected to Jarvis somewhere other than your phone, and I knew you wouldn’t let him install it if we asked. So I told him to go ahead and do it anyway.”

“You know it’s a little creepy, right? Like a lot creepy.”

“I know, I’m sorry. But it’s just Jarvis. And it’s more like an advanced security system than a bug. Plus, it’ll keep you safe during this mission—or whatever. By the way, I do know about the nightmares, Tony. And not because I’m a creep but because I’m a good sister and I know when you’re not okay.”

“I’m fine. I’m doing great considering. I mean—since the whole thing with Hydra. It could be a lot worse. I could be rotting in a jail cell. My therapist did say I was making progress. Of course, that was before. And she always said that.”

“Your therapist worked for SHIELD.”

“So did I.”

“Yeah, but she was actually Hydra. She was totally cool with them murdering half the world.”

“Your boyfriend is the one who helped design the weapon that would have killed the both of you. I know you always distrusted SHIELD, and I don’t blame you for that. But some of us were actually in it with the best intentions. And those people saved your asses. You don’t have to be grateful, but you could try to be a bit more considerate. I lost my job. More importantly, I believed in something that turned out to be—not what I thought it was.”

“I just wish you picked less dangerous occupations,” Clara remarked.

“I wish you picked less dangerous boyfriends,” I countered. It wasn’t true. I liked Tony. Even though his actions did sometimes put my sister’s life at risk. Clara was silent for a moment.

“Fine. You win. This time,” she finally answered.

“Good. So what do you think of this mission? Don’t act like you don’t already know. Tony tells you everything.”

“I think it sounds crazy and cliché like one of those cheesy romantic comedies where you pretend to be dating and fall in love.” Clara had a much brighter outlook than I did.

“I’m not going to fall in love with Captain America.”

“Can’t,” Tony said from the background. “He has a girlfriend. Or a someone anyway. I don’t know what she is.”

“What?” we replied simultaneously.

“Wow, you guys are so far out of the loop.”

“Since when does he have a girlfriend? He never said anything about it,” Clara argued.

“You don’t remember the one girl he was banging before he went off to DC? She’s one of those ‘special’ people. Enhanced.”

“Banging, really? What is this, a high school locker room? And no, I don’t remember hearing about this.”

“So far out of the loop. What do we even talk about?”

“Did you know he had a girlfriend? Why do they need you to do this job if he has a girlfriend?”

“Well, enhanced being the keyword, dear. Also, she lives here in New York.”

“Okay, so can you guys stop bickering for like five seconds so I can talk to my sister?” I asked.

“Sorry,” they both replied. I had a feeling Tony put me on speakerphone, and his answer proved my theory.

“Okay, so anyway. Do you think this is a bad idea or what?” Clara sighed. It was something she frequently did.

“I don’t know, Jo,” she decided. “I think it’s stupid. And he sounds dangerous. I mean—from the few files Hill sent us. He nearly took Washington off the map.”

“He didn’t do it singlehandedly. And according to Rogers, he was brainwashed. He had no part of the decision making process.”

“He still seems dangerous. People don’t just—bounce back from that kind of thing. But you’re just supposed to be the safe place, right? Just be careful. Keep us informed. I know you can’t really talk about it after next week—but you can at least tell me you’re okay. And I don’t just mean physically.”

“I will. And I’ll do my best to keep safe. I’ve lasted this long. What’s a robot-armed super soldier against me?”

“Not funny.”

“It was a little funny,” Tony muttered.

“Not funny,” Clara repeated. I rubbed the growing ache from my forehead. The combination of nightmares, coffee, and no food weighed down on me.

“Alright. Well, I have to get to work on my house. I’ll call you again before we get everything set up.”

“Okay. Bye, Jo.”

“Bye.”

I set the phone down on the coffee table, and the screen went blank. Then I took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. I was just supposed to be the safe place, but somehow I didn’t think it’d be that easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating. Kinda been dealing with insecurity and also struggling to stick to a schedule.
> 
> Clara, Jo's sister, is meant to have a companion story. But I haven't finished it yet. It's got quite a few chapters, but they're not ready to go up. I'm not sure when I'll get to them again. The girl Tony mentioned, the one who was with Steve, is also meant to have a companion story (and she did have a cameo at one point), but once again, haven't gotten around to it.
> 
> Also, I wrote the original story before Guardians of the Galaxy came out. Naming the raccoon in her attic Rocket was meant to be a joke. But it's not actually Rocket. She explains later that she called him that because he'd shoot out of the hole in the roof like a rocket. But I did it in reference to the actual Rocket.


	4. Chapter 4

The worst part of the mission wasn’t the possibility of being murdered by a super-soldier with a robotic arm. It was waiting tables. Hill set up the job so I could establish a false identity at least one week before Rogers was scheduled to come to my house, and possibly bring along a trailing shadow.

Romanoff decided that my house wasn’t friendly enough and sent a group of movers over first thing in the morning. I left the house as people were coming in and out with flower planters and cleaning supplies. They were already getting started on the lawn. The only time I ever mowed it was when a kid down the street offered, or the neighbors put notes on my door.

Romanoff made it clear that I was supposed to appear easy to approach. Or, as translated by me, a fairy princess. I wasn’t the least bit surprised that my house didn’t make the cut. I only used it as a place to store my things, sleep, and shower. Which apparently wasn’t friendly or “threat-free” enough for Romanoff’s standards. So by the time my first shift would end, my house would be more acceptable.

When I was in high school, I had one real job. Usually, I made extra money by helping my grandparents or going to work at my dad’s garage. But when I was in junior year, and my parents weren’t able to afford my prom dress, I got a job to pay for it myself. I waited tables at a pancake restaurant and hated every second.

I could feel all of that raw hatred returning when I stepped into the diner. It was supposed to be a 50’s themed diner, with celebrity portraits and studies of old cars on the walls. The diner’s biggest sellers were their old-fashioned malts in a variety of flavors. I hadn’t heard of the place before Hill sent me the information, but I already knew I was going to dislike all the greasy food. And I was sure I was going to want to destroy the malt machine before leaving for the day.

The dining area was small, with several booths along the wall under the windows, and a bar. A girl was already standing behind the counter making a milkshake when I walked in. She was the only person in the dining area except for a man nursing a mug of coffee and a mom with a sleepy kid waiting for his early morning milkshake.

I headed back and introduced myself. The girl said her name was Marion, but she didn’t have a nametag, and I forgot it quickly. She was a tall girl with short dark hair and chunky wedge sneakers. Her sweater seemed just a tad too tight for a full range of motion, and she was already bouncing from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable with her choice of footwear.

When Marion was done showing me around, she finished up the shake and took it to the excited boy in the booth. She smiled brightly. Like it wasn’t early in the morning. And then returned and nodded for me to follow her into the kitchen.

I was going to be in training for only two days, and then under probation for the rest of the week. I knew how to do the job, and I didn’t have much trouble getting started. I just felt miserable. I never wanted to go back to waiting tables and hated Hydra even more than I already did. My only consolation was that the double income would cover my bills. I had to remind myself of that several times during the day, just to plaster that fake smile on my face.

By the time my shift ended, everything below the waist hurt. My thighs ached, my calves, my feet, and even my knees. I used to wake up every morning at four AM just to run miles, and I decided I’d rather go back to doing that every day than having to wait on another table. My head was pounding. I wanted to go home and never come back. I hurried out of there the first chance I got.

The house already looked different when I pulled the car into the driveway. The lawn was cut to even my father’s meticulous standards. There were little boxes full of blooming flowers outside of the living room window. And also a potted shrub by the door. They’d even left a welcome mat with a cheerful greeting and friendly polka dots. I stepped inside, and the scent of cleaning supplies and air fresheners washed over me, making the house feel strangely unfamiliar.

It had been cleaned from top to bottom. There were no longer cobwebs on the ceiling fans or bugs in the light fixtures. There were decorative quilts and pillows on the couch. When I went to the kitchen, I noticed a weathered patio set in the backyard. Like anyone would believe that I was the kind of person to throw backyard barbecues.

I didn’t like it.

The upstairs was in much the same condition. I didn’t know what reason Barnes would have for examining my bathroom, but sure enough, there was a new shower curtain with a matching set of soap dishes and rugs. My bed was made for the first time since middle school, and my closet had been cleaned of anything linking me to the military or SHIELD. Romanoff promised to put all my things in a storage facility, but I really hoped nothing happened to it.

It didn’t feel like home anymore. I thought I wouldn’t be bothered by it since I never spent much time there anyway. But it was still mine. Even if nothing matched and there were no pictures on the walls. At least it reflected who I was. This house didn’t feel like me at all.

I sat down on the bed and took off my shoes. Despite the new, sheer curtains, the room was relatively dark. I hoped they hadn’t called someone to get rid of the raccoon in the attic. I knew he was probably destroying my home and likely to put my health at risk, but I felt bad for the little guy. I didn’t want him to be out on his own. The sound of his scurrying and chattering in the middle of the night was comforting. I liked the way he made the tree shake when he shot out of the house like a rocket. Which was how he got his name in the first place.

My mom always used to say that Clara was destined to be rich and never have children. Or if she did, she’d hire them a nanny. She said I was meant to be a mother. I didn’t have a lot of experiences with kids. I never had any cousins, and I did love my mother. I thought other moms were great too. But motherhood wasn’t where I saw myself. My own mom was a housewife who never had a real job outside of helping her husband with his business and raising two daughters. That kind of life never appealed to me.

Clara worked hard for the life she had. Even though she had everything she could ever want or need because Tony Stark had fallen head over heels for her, his business still depended on her. Stark Industries depended on her. And that was what I really wanted. To be useful or valuable beyond providing meals and doing laundry.

I joined the military to prove I could handle something bigger than what small-town Ohio had to offer. To prove to my father that my kindness and gentleness had nothing to do with a lack of strength. I worked as hard as Clara did. I gave the military all I had and took up hobbies to get me noticed by Special Forces. I thought I was destined to do something with my life. I could help people, be a doctor, make a difference, make my family proud. Then maybe someday I’d consider children and a spouse with a house. Maybe even a dog or two.

But I couldn’t do it. I got my squad killed, didn’t save a group of children. I couldn’t even pull a trigger and avenge them when I had the chance. Now I was waiting tables at a grimy diner so that Captain America could use my house to find his friend. So that a potentially dangerous Hydra experiment didn’t find me too threatening.

I sighed in defeat and leaned on the mattress. Of course they chose me. I was so non-threatening that Colonel Talbot took one look at me and knew there was no possible way Hydra could have found me useful. I was the least threatening SHIELD agent in the entire district. I wasn’t destined for great things. I wasn’t good enough for a dog, let alone children. I felt like a failure. And there was nothing more irritating than the feeling of being stuck.


	5. Chapter 5

I was right for thinking I’d hate the malt machine. I was forced to follow another waiter around on my first day and make mental notes about what I was doing. Now I was required to hand out plates and make my own shakes, though supervised. The machine was a noisy, messy thing that shook violently and could probably use a lot of repair work. If I didn’t hate the place so much, I might try to convince Stark to send them an upgrade, even if it killed the vintage theme.

I had one hand on top of the machine while the other tried to balance the rest of it. I’d already made three shakes, and it wasn’t even noon yet. Morgan slid into place at my side, her dark eyes scanning the bar full of patrons. She smiled mischievously.

“There’s a hot guy here who wants to talk to you,” she said.

“A what?” I asked, shouting over the noisy machine rumbling beneath my hands.

“A hot guy. Over there.” She pointed down the length of the bar where a man was leaning against the counter. He was wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap, but it was obvious he was watching us. He gave a wave and a smile. I recognized him from the meeting with Hill and the others. Sam Wilson wanted to talk. “Do you know him?” she asked. I didn’t know if I was supposed to tell the truth.

“Uh,” I said as I turned off the machine. “We haven’t met.”

I motioned for him to wait and finished up the shake. I took it to the customer and shared a few smiles before telling Morgan I was going on break. Sam was waiting for me at the end of the bar. I slid my notepad into the pocket of my apron and approached cautiously. He gave me a reassuring smile.

“Johanna Hayes,” he said. I nodded slowly.

“That’s me,” I replied. I gave him an expectant look, and he remembered we weren’t supposed to know each other.

“Oh right. Sam Wilson.” He stuck out his hand, and I shook it.

“Nice to—meet you, Sam.”

“I came on behalf of Steve.” I glanced around the dining area to see if anyone was watching. Morgan was sizing him up from the other end of the bar, but she went back to refilling ketchup bottles when I caught her looking. I nodded back to him.

“Right. Steve. Can I get you something? A burger? Some fries? Please don’t ask for a milkshake.” He gave me an easy smile.

“A Coke would be nice.”

“Have a seat in the back booth. I’ll go get it.”

“Thanks.”

He headed to the booth, and I did another scan of the dining room and the windows. Then I slipped into the back to get his drink. Morgan followed, skipping quickly on her chunky shoes to catch up. She glanced at Sam over my shoulder.

“He’s cute,” she remarked. I only nodded absently.

“He’s a friend of my uh….” I didn’t want to call Rogers my boyfriend. Even though that was the story we were supposed to be weaving. It felt wrong. “Guy,” I decided. “Friend. That—I see on occasion.” Morgan's eyebrows rose in pleasant surprise, apparently taking my hesitation to mean something else.

“So you have an occasional guy friend? Is he cute too?”

“He’s big,” I agreed. “Kinda muscular. Rides a motorcycle.” That was all I could come up with. I knew nothing personal about Steve. And I was getting uncomfortable just telling her what I could.

“Nice,” she said anyway, nodding her head.

“Yeah.”

I felt awkward. So I hurried with the soda and rushed back to the booth to hand it off to Sam. He had his back to the wall, and his arm stretched out over the back of the seat. I didn’t like having my back exposed, but I was only supposed to be a civilian. So I slid into the seat opposite him and folded my hands in my lap.

“What do you need to talk to me about?” I whispered. He leaned forward but kept his eyes on the busy room. Luckily, there was no one in our immediate area, so we were safe speaking there. The sound of customers and the loud milkshake machine would drown out interference.

“Just passing along some tips for Steve since you guys can’t talk yet,” he whispered as he rubbed the straw between his fingers. “Some stuff SHIELD didn’t know or things he wanted to keep on the down low.” I’d already been given a briefing. I didn’t think there was anything else I needed to know.

“What kind of stuff?”

“This guy—Barnes. I’ve had the misfortune of meeting him a few times. If you’d even call it that. It’s a real touchy subject for Steve. They were best friends. Brothers. Barnes was the closest thing to a family he had. It’s had to wake up one day and find that everything you knew and everyone you loved is gone. Barnes’ death was hard on him. He watched it happen, blamed himself. So he wants to find the guy, rightly doesn’t trust anyone else after what happened with Hydra. He’s afraid they’ll either kill him outright or try to use him for their own benefit. This isn’t about finding Barnes to him. It’s about saving him. You understand?”

“So this isn’t—this isn’t just locating a potential threat. This mission is going to be a lot longer than I anticipated, isn’t it?” He sighed heavily and moved his dark eyes to mine.

“Look,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “It’s important to Steve. It’s personal. He doesn’t want you to get hurt, but he wants you to know that’s a real possibility. This guy is dangerous, and the people who are after him are worse. You can back out at any time, but be careful how you treat this mission. Especially with Steve. Barnes—I don’t like him very much, to put it mildly.” He laughed, and I smiled. “But I like Steve, and I know it’s important to him to help this guy—you know—recover. I trust his judgment.” My smile fell.

“Recovery doesn’t just happen overnight. It’s a process. It could take years. He’ll be lucky just to apprehend him.”

“I know. And Steve knows that too. So he’s trying to go about it in a way that’s comfortable for Barnes. And he thinks he just needs to get through to him. But Barnes’ mind is—delicate, let’s put it that way. He’s violent. He’s strong. I know you’re Special Forces but he uh….”

“It’s okay. I know he’s stronger than I am. I’m not offended. He’s enhanced.” He laughed. “And I can relate. I think I can handle it.”

“You sure about that?” I laughed lightly.

“No.” His eyes focused on something beyond me and then Morgan appeared with a basket of fries.

“Thought you guys might like a snack,” she said, setting the small red basket on the table between us.

“I think we’re good, Morgan,” I said. She gave Sam a flirty smile and walked away. He watched her go.

“Nice kid,” he said, leaning over the table. He took a fry from the basket and twirled it in his fingers.

“Steve just wanted me to tell you a few things about his past with Barnes,” he continued. “Stuff a guy might tell his girlfriend. Best friends growing up. Steve was a puny nerdy kid who liked to get into trouble. Barnes was the protective older brother type. Liked to pick on him, but he was proud. Bit of a lady’s man from what I understand. Thought he had something to prove.” There was a knot in the pit of my stomach. I almost winced. “You know back in those days a guy thought going to war was the best way to do that. He shipped off, left Steve behind, became a sergeant. Damn near perfect shot as it was. Smart. Quick. Would have given his life for Steve. Ended up doing just that.”

“I already know most of this stuff. The History Channel puts out a special every year.”

“That’s all Steve told me. Like I said, sensitive subject.” He stuck one of the fries into his mouth, and I waited for him to finish before voicing my thoughts.

“Sounds to me like you’re here to size me up,” I suggested. He shrugged again.

“I’ll only tell him nice things, I promise. What about you? Any questions for me? Now would be a good time to ask.” I watched him sift through the basket of fries.

“What about Steve’s girlfriend?” He paused.

“She’s not his girlfriend. From what I understand. It’s complicated, I guess. He hasn’t told me much about her.”

“Why isn’t she here playing this role for him? It would be much more believable if he actually liked the girl, wouldn’t it?”

“Dunno,” he said, eating more fries. “Considering what he has told me about her, I guess it would be easy for Barnes to view her as a threat.”

“Why? Because she’s enhanced? Wouldn’t that be safer?”

“How’d you know that?” he asked with furrowed brows.

“Stark told me.” He huffed in irritation.

“Never even met the guy and he already gets on my nerves.” I shrugged. That sounded accurate.

“He grows on you.”

“He’s good. Not many people know about her. Steve wants to keep it that way.”

“Stark is the best. He just knows that he’s the best,” I explained.

“Well yeah, it’s because she’s enhanced. Barnes wouldn’t take very long to figure it out. But she’s also—uh—been through a lot recently. Steve doesn’t want to put her in a position that might—set her off.” He shrugged. “Anyway, Romanoff suggested you. She says you’re strong enough to handle it. I don’t think Steve’s girl could. Or he would have asked.”

He had his eyes on the basket of fries and missed the way his words startled me. I never viewed myself as particularly strong. Not anymore anyway. I couldn’t shoot a gun. I couldn’t sleep without horrible nightmares. I owned a pink knife with sparkles on it. And Sam Wilson thought I was strong enough to handle—whatever this was.

I cleared my throat and looked at the clock behind the counter.

“I should probably get back to work,” I told him. “If that’s all you wanted to talk to me about.” He nodded slowly, still reading something from me that he didn’t share.

“That’s all I can think of at the moment. I figure if you’re going to be Steve’s girl from now it, it might be nice for us to be friends.” I nodded and stood.

“Yeah, I’ll invite you over for dinner sometime.” He looked up at me and smiled, obviously catching her dry sarcasm.

“Was that a joke?” I laughed.

“I’ll even make a casserole.”

“Sounds good to me.” I returned the smile and tapped my fingers on the table.

“I’ll cover your drink and fries.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Don’t worry about it. Rogers pays my tab.” He lifted his Coke and pretended to offer cheers for his missing friend.

“To freedom,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank every single person who has commented. It means a lot to me. Thank you guys so much. ^.^


	6. Chapter 6

I paced back and forth in my living room as I waited for Rogers to arrive. I’d spent most of the afternoon furiously scrubbing the place clean just to keep my mind from wandering. I hadn’t seen him all week, and the only contact I had with him was the one visit from Sam and a few texts from Romanoff as she tried to build a cover story.

Romanoff had the whole story already planned, and she was having way too much fun with it. She had an elaborate story for me to tell, but I decided it was best to stick with the truth as much as possible. I didn’t think Barnes was likely to question me much. And if he did, he’d probably only want to know about Rogers anyway. Barnes could come up with his own ideas about how we met and why we didn’t act like two people in love.

The only thing I really needed was an explanation for why Rogers came to my house a few nights a week. His own apartment was wrecked during Director Fury’s assassination, and his new place was surrounded by government officials. So he would have to come to my house periodically, and we’d have to be affectionate enough for the story to sell.

I was nervous. Not only was my bed too small for a guy like Rogers in the first place, I hadn’t slept beside someone in a long time. Well, at least not in a way that didn’t lead to, or come after sex. I just hoped Barnes didn’t question it. Though I didn’t think he’d care.

Rogers was known for being somewhat punctual, and the minutes were ticking toward his expected arrival. I twisted my fingers as I paced and waited. Before this night, Barnes would have a small chance of knowing I existed. It was possible he’d seen me at the diner if he’d followed Wilson, but that was unlikely. And he wouldn’t have gotten much out of that meeting anyway since all we did was sit at a booth and talk for a few minutes.

The doorbell rang at nine o’ four. I already knew he was there since I heard his motorcycle on the road, but I decided not to answer until I had confirmation. I took a deep breath before approaching the door. I’d taken drama classes in high school, and though nothing ever came of that brief interest, I was familiar enough with the concept. I was supposed to be kind and gentle and non-threatening. But I didn’t know enough about Rogers to know if that was even his type. I shook out my fingers and opened the door, pretending to be comfortable and not the least bit awkward or nervous.

“Steve,” I said, but then the awkwardness returned. He stood on the front steps looking as uncomfortable as I felt. I suddenly didn’t know what to say as I tried to remember Romanoff’s suggestions. But everything felt too fake. Rogers was a stranger to me. His smile was forced like he didn’t want to be there, but he was willing to do whatever he could to get his friend back.

“Hi,” he replied. There was a moment of silence where I wondered what Romanoff’s Jo would have done. Let him right in, or stand and talk for a minute? “I’m sorry,” he continued. “For being late. And not calling. I just—didn’t want to get you involved.” I nodded slowly, hoping Barnes (or Stark) wasn’t listening or didn’t know Steve well enough to notice how uncomfortable he was and how unfamiliar we were with each other.

“I figured,” I said, holding onto the door. He nodded and looked around the front yard, begging silently to be let inside, so we didn’t have to do this anymore.

“Can we talk inside?” he asked. I was grateful for the chance to drop the act and quickly jumped out of the way.

“Please, come in. I’m dying,” I whispered. He finally gave a real smile as he passed and I shut the door.

“That makes two of us,” he remarked. I turned to him and slapped my hands on my thighs.

“Well—I’m glad that’s over. Water? I feel like that’s something my alter-ego would offer.”

“Uh—sure.”


	7. Chapter 7

I bought my house right after I got the job with SHIELD and had more money than I knew what to do with. I thought it was what adults were supposed to do. And since I could afford it at the time, I thought it would be better than renting. In reality, I just didn’t know how to survive in a civilian world. I was a soldier, and before that, I was just a kid. I’d never been given lessons about what to do with my life, and whatever college would have taught me—well, I skipped that. Clara seemed to have a decent grasp of adulthood, but I had gone off to the army and learned how to identify wounds and hit moving targets with knives.

The SHIELD recruitment was my lucky break. I was referred by a commanding officer and was one of many to apply for the job. I took pride in having a boringly average government job. I filed paperwork and wrote up reports, despite being trained in medicine. I knew how to shoot a gun, despite never being able to turn it on someone. I knew how to care for weapons, and it did bring me a thrill when I went in for weekly practice. I could hit the target on the mark every time. But shooting paper figures was completely different. And I felt sick to my stomach every time I thought about having to use it on a living person.

The house was a split-moment decision. I thought it was the next step I was supposed to take after getting a job. It was what my parents had done when they finished school. Clara still rented when she wasn’t with Stark, but that was in New York City, and it just made more sense for her lifestyle. So I bought the old thing and lived on my own with no pets or dates or even close acquaintances.

That was the main reason why Romanoff and Hill thought it would be best to keep me home. That, and the fact that they no longer had SHIELD funding and people might question why I up and left my house for no good reason. I’d already established a life there. My neighbors were used to seeing me, but never asked questions. No one would even notice if Captain America walked down the street in his star-spangled uniform.

Thankfully, he wasn’t in the uniform. He was sitting at the kitchen table picking at the wood grains that were stained by years of daily coffee spills. I stood across the kitchen, leaning against the counter. I watched him for a while. He hadn’t spoken much since I handed him a glass of water. And I didn’t know what else I was supposed to do. My mother always made sure all guests had a drink in their hands.

Steve was a large man. I'd only seen him a few times since he came to work in DC. I saw him stalking around the Triskelion from time to time, but we’d never officially met before our introduction the week before, and this was the first time we’d ever been alone together.

“So,” I said slowly, as I gripped the counter behind me and tried to appear more comfortable. He had his back to the wall in the seat that I usually took. He didn’t seem the least bit relaxed. “Did I pass Wilson’s inspection?” He gave a short laugh. Some of the tension seemed to drain from him for a moment. He was relieved I’d broken the ice.

“You passed just fine,” he replied.

“Do you think I seem gentle enough? What was it Romanoff said? Fairy princess?”

“You look fine.”

“I was just joking, Rogers. Sorry. Steve. I’m not used to being on a first name basis with Captain America.”

“Unfortunately, we’re going to have to get used to it. Bucky will see right through us if you keep calling me Rogers.”

“Unless I turn it into a cute pet name?” He only smiled.

“So what do you prefer to be called? Jo? Jo-hanna? Jo-anna? Or is it Yo-honna? Yo-hanna?”

“Try not to overthink it. I’ve been called all of those things, and it doesn’t bother me. My family calls me Yo-honna, but they’re the only ones. Jo is fine. I think Romanoff settled on Jo.”

“But what do you prefer?” She shrugged. Usually, people just pronounced it however they wanted and stuck with it. They were often wrong. Only a few people had ever gotten it right. And most didn’t bother to ask.

“Doesn’t matter. I think he’ll see right through this whole set up anyway.”

“Why do you say that?” His expression was concerned. He looked better than he had the week before. His hair wasn’t as messy, and the dark circles under his eyes had faded. The cuts were still healing, but he didn’t look as messed up.

“You’re a soldier, Steve. You know what war does to people. Nothing is the same when you come home. Doesn’t matter if it’s four years or seventy. You can read it on people. You can just tell.” He pressed his fingers against his chin and focused on the wood table again.

“I’m hoping he doesn’t recognize it. War isn’t the only thing that leaves a mark.”

“I’m sure I could come up with a tragic enough backstory. If he bothers to ask.”

“Just keep me informed. I don’t want to be caught off guard.” We smiled again, and I narrowed my eyes as I studied him.

“So why’d you send Wilson to come talk to me?” I asked. “He said he wanted to give me tips but he gave me a watered down version of your friendship and ate a bunch of French-fries.” He laughed.

“It’s just—this mission isn’t going to be easy,” he explained, rubbing his eyes and leaning back in the chair. “And I don’t know you well enough to know how you’re going to handle it. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“I just wanted to be sure you could do this delicately. I heard about your incident with the—the pink knife. I just don’t think that would be the best approach with Bucky. And I don’t know if it’s just instinct or you just….” I shifted my feet and focused on them.

“You’re actually worried that I’m dangerous?” I almost laughed at that idea.

“I’m worried it might set him off.”

“It was instinct. That time. But it could have been worse. Remember I had a gun on me too. It was self-defense. I handled it the best way I knew how.” Steve watched me fidget from across the room. I was clearly uncomfortable by the turn in conversation.

“I wasn’t talking about Hydra,” he said. “I meant the incident with Agent Harmon.” I nodded slowly and crossed my arms over my chest. I didn’t want to tell him any more, but he waited for an explanation, and I gave it reluctantly.

“Agent Harmon was my boyfriend,” I said. “And he was Hydra. I didn’t attack him unprovoked. He shoved me into the fridge and—The knife was all I had on me. I mean—I could have kicked him out without using it, but I think he deserved it. That time wasn’t instinct. It was deliberate. I won’t pull a knife on your friend. Not without a good reason.” He smiled, but it fell quickly.

“What about when you were almost discharged?” he whispered. I blanched.

“It was a long time ago,” is all I said on that matter. He decided to drop it.

“I don’t know what will set Bucky off. He might get violent very quickly. If you come at him with a knife, even to defend yourself, he might kill you before letting you explain. It’s not that I don’t want you to defend yourself. I just want you to be cautious and read every situation. Alert Stark before you make a move.” I nodded quickly, glad that he’d changed the subject.

“Understood. I’ll keep the knife in check. I’m smart enough to know I can’t go up against Robocop. I’ll call for help like I’m supposed to.” He didn’t seem to find that funny, but he didn’t say anything about it. I suspected he just didn’t know what Robocop was. “Anyway, are you going to be comfortable sharing a bed with me? I was going to make you a bed on the couch, but Romanoff said….”

“I can sleep on the couch. It won’t be an issue.”

“I wasn’t saying it’s an issue. Romanoff seems to think you’ll blow our cover if you sleep on the couch. I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable. We don’t know each other.”

“It’s just a tense situation. I don’t know if he’ll come tonight. If he does at all. And I don’t like the idea of putting someone else’s life at risk for the sake of a lie.” I bit my lip and looked down at my feet again. I wasn’t wearing shoes, and it felt odd to be standing in front of him in such casual clothes.

“You must have really loved him if you’re going through all this trouble,” I noted.

“He was there for me when I had no one else. He’s all I have left.” I nodded slowly and chewed on my lip.

“What about your friends? Wilson and Romanoff. You guys seem pretty close.”

“I’m ninety-five-years old. I don’t exactly ‘fit in.’” Then I snorted. Entertained by the reminder that he was older than my grandparents. “He’s my brother,” he said when my laughter faded. “Not in blood but in every way that matters.” I gave him a short nod.

“I understand. My sister never really had to pull me out of any fights—she did kill a Chitauri with a staple remover once though.” He nodded.

“I heard the story. Very impressive.”

“Anyway—my point is that I understand.—You don’t think Barnes will find out about her, do you?”

“No, your sister is with Stark. She’s safe.”

“Do you think this will actually work or are we just wasting time?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think we’ll contact Bucky unless he wants us to. I just have to hope that he does. Sometimes that’s all you have. What about you?” I took a moment to answer the question, staring into the darkened hallway and chewing on my lip.

“I don’t think I know either of you well enough to have an answer. All I know is that when I did—if I—were to lose my memory and not know who I was, I’d want to talk to the person who did.” He nodded thoughtfully, and I decided to call it a night. I didn’t care where he chose to sleep, but I didn’t want to talk anymore. “I’m going to bed, Steve. It’s small, but you probably weren’t going to sleep well anyway. You don’t strike me as the type.” I pushed away from the counter as he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, staring into his cup. “Probably not.”


	8. Chapter 8

I wasn’t supposed to be there that day. My commanding officer only brought me along as a precaution. He said the mission would be safe and easy and we’d be home before lunch. The sound of screaming and gunfire was deafening.

“Medic! Medic!” someone was shouting from the other side of the building.

My heart was pounding, and my hands were shaking. I didn’t want to go over there. Not where bullets were flying, and people were screaming. I heard the voice get louder and more urgent. I knew that voice. He was a friend. We came to guard children, and I couldn’t just stand there shaking in an alley when I could help them. That was the whole reason I trained for the job in the first place. Just to help. All I ever wanted to do was help.

So I took a deep breath and hugged my rifle close to my chest. I ran around the corner and into the open courtyard. My friend was kneeling over a bleeding child. The little girl was the one screaming. She couldn’t have been more than ten. I could already tell by the amount of blood and the location of the wound that she wasn’t going to live long enough to save her.

“I’m here! I’m here!” I shouted, returning my gun to her shoulder and trading it for my medical pack.

I pressed my fingers to the ripped cloth Jimenez held against the little girl’s stomach. He released her and jumped up, disappearing through an alley. The girl looked up at me with tears in her eyes, and I didn’t know how to comfort her. I just knew I had to try. Even if I couldn’t save her life.

“You’re okay, sweetie. You’re going to be okay,” I reassured her as I pulled the fabric away to assess the damage. I was looking for something that would give me hope. Any indication that it wasn’t as bad as I thought.

But the wound had no exit, and it was leaking more than blood. If I managed to stop the bleeding, all I’d do is give the girl a long agonizing death. I bit my lip to stop the flood of emotions and looked back at the little girl. I forced myself to smile.

“Don’t be afraid,” I said.

There was shouting across the street. For a moment, the gunfire ceased, and there was nothing but the whistle of the wind. Then I heard the last word I wanted to hear while I sat in such a vulnerable position in the middle of an open courtyard.

“Grenade!”

The explosion rocked the courtyard. One moment I was looking into that little girl’s eyes and the next thing I knew I was yards away, lying on a pile of debris on my back. I could feel the burns on my ear and face. Ringing drowned out all sound except for the pounding of my heart. I struggled to get back on my feet and searched the courtyard for the little girl. She was lying several feet away, looking peaceful beneath a blanket of plaster and brick. Her eyes were still wet with tears, but she stared unblinkingly at the dusty sky.

“Jo. Jo?” a voice said through the ringing, and I felt hands on my shoulders. Someone gripped me hard and spun me around. I gasped and blinked.

“Steve,” I said when I finally made sense of my surroundings. I was at home in my dark bedroom with the tree-shaded walls. Steve was in my bed, shaking me out of a nightmare.

“Are you okay?” he asked, as a fellow soldier, not the lover he was supposed to pretend to be. My heart was pounding still, and in the silence I could hear my own ragged breathing. I was still trembling, and the blankets had twisted in my legs. I nodded quickly.

“I’m fine,” I told him. “I’ll be fine.” But his eyebrows creased in the darkness and he sat back and released me. I could tell that he was seeing me more thoroughly than most people did. It was the same way soldiers looked at me on the outside. A mutual understanding. Equals. Not as a patient, sister, or daughter.

“You don’t really believe that,” he said flatly. I rubbed my forehead and tried to relax.

“No,” I admitted. “But I didn’t think you were asking about my mental state.”

Then I rolled over and turned my back on him. He shifted and returned to his position beside me. He would have been more comfortable on the couch, but he wanted everything to go as planned, so he joined me anyway. I was used to being alone, but I didn’t want to be. Sometimes all a person wanted was someone who understood. He wrapped his arm around me.

“You don’t have to do that,” I whispered in the dark. “No one is going to see.”

“I know,” he replied.

I didn’t say anything. I stared at the window where the shadows of the tree were dancing on the glass. A pale green light made them stand out more than usual, which meant the neighbor’s porch light was on. They didn’t have any pets, and it was motion activated. It must have been the raccoon. Steve’s body was warm, and I could hear the steady thump of his heart. So I closed her eyes and sighed. I never was any good at sleeping alone. There were no feelings of a romantic sort, but it was nice not to be alone for once. I think he felt the same way.

“Goodnight, Steve,” I said.

“Goodnight,” he replied.


	9. Chapter 9

If I had to pick my perfect housemate, it would be Steve Rogers. He didn’t stay over every night, but whenever he did, my house always ended up cleaner than it had been. He was quiet too. We talked in soft voices because we could never think of what to say and didn’t want our discomfort overheard. But Steve cooked, he cleaned, and when he was upstairs, he didn’t stomp around and shake the light fixtures.

My ex-boyfriend, Agent Oscar Harmon, used to be the exact opposite. Whenever he came to stay, which was often, he would leave behind a trail of garbage. He would walk around upstairs, stomping so hard the light fixtures rattled, and I could never think straight. He didn’t cook, he didn’t clean, and he sang. All the time. He sang awful.

He was the only boyfriend I had since I was discharged. He was a SHIELD agent. Although, technically he was Hydra. I didn’t know that at the time. No one did, but I'd seen something in him. A hunger for power and control. Something was off about him. And not just because he stomped around my house like a triceratops singing at the top of his lungs, but because he’d shoved me into the fridge over an argument about dirty laundry. I suspected he never wanted to love me at all, just to own me.

So I’d pinned him to the floor with my favorite pink knife against his throat. I knew he was better trained than I was and could have easily tossed me aside. I was Special Forces and a medic. I was trained, and I thought I was damn good at what I did. But he was a Marine and much bigger. He wasn’t the least bit threatened by my bedazzled pink switchblade. He just laughed in my face, and I had to resist every urge to nick his skin and make him take me seriously.

It wouldn’t have been the first time I’d battled that urge. But it was undoubtedly the first time I didn’t act on it.

I made him leave my house, and he went to SHIELD to complain about my violent behavior. They did an inquiry. Concerned about my tendency to snap under pressure. But they allowed me to keep my gun and my knife and told me they’d be keeping an eye on me. Nothing ever came of it because I never snapped again.

After Hydra fell, Oscar disappeared into the wind, and I hadn’t seen him since. Our breakup happened long before Hydra’s fall, but he was the one who started the running joke about my bedazzled switchblade. I always kept it on me just in case I ever saw him again. I thought I could have shot him without feeling any remorse, but the thought of him dying with my pink knife sticking out of his chest was more comforting. In a hypothetical kind of way.

Aside from him, the only other person I lived with outside of the military was my sister. My parents were always obnoxiously loud, but Clara was an easy roommate. She tended to mind her own business. She complained a lot, though. The point was just that I didn’t know a whole lot about living with other people.

Having Steve in my house was more enjoyable than bothersome. Even though he was always worried about overstepping and intruding. He was a nice guy and kept his distance. He only used the upstairs bathroom to shower, never touched my things, and cleaned up after himself and washed his own dishes.

We never clicked enough to be comfortable with affection. Both of us were too quiet and withdrawn as it was. Technically, we had a lot in common, but we weren’t supposed to talk about those things. So our conversations always fell short. We both hoped no one was watching. Or it was attributed to a romantic rift.

Steve was sitting at the kitchen table again but wasn’t any less tense than usual. His shoulders were always squared and his eyes alert for danger. He spent the entire day with me for once, even going outside for a while so anyone listening could hear us laughing. Even then he always had his eyes on the shadows.

I made him some tea in the hopes that it would relax him before he had to leave. Clara always drank tea and said it was the only reason, besides coffee, that she didn’t murder Tony. She also said she gave it to him whenever he was stressed. Tony probably just told her it helped to make her feel better. Tony wasn’t a soldier, but he wore the marks of war just like we did. Tea wasn’t enough.

Steve took a cautious sip and winced from the heat. He looked up at where I was standing at the counter again.

“Mm, thank you,” he said. Steve didn’t strike me as a tea drinker. But the fake Jo I’d constructed in my mind did.

“I figured fairy princesses are the kind of people who offer tea,” I whispered. He smiled and took another sip.

“I wouldn’t know. Can’t say that I’ve ever met one.”

“But you have met Thor.” For the first time since I met him, he laughed genuinely. But it faded quickly. He set the mug back down on the table and conveniently looked at his watch.

“I better get going. Sam didn’t want me to be late. You know—stuff.” I nodded quickly. I hated not being part of “stuff.” I was locked in a job waiting tables while they hunted for Barnes or dealt with the repercussions of the incident.

“Yeah, of course. More stuff. Will I be seeing you again tonight or are you just going home?”

“I might come by late. Just depends on how things play out. So don’t wait up for me.”

He stood and headed into the hallway. I followed to walk him out. We paused in the entryway with the door wide open, and he leaned in to peck my cheek with a nervous kiss. It was the most he ever did, and I was grateful for it. Romanoff made a few suggestions over text, but Steve looked scandalized and wouldn’t tell me what she said. The only time he ever seemed comfortable was when I had nightmares, and he’d let me steal his warmth long enough to go back to sleep.

It didn’t bother me because I wasn’t sure Steve could open up to anyone enough for a relationship. I figured that was why he wouldn’t talk about the other girl. But I did think that partially living with a guy for a few weeks would initiate some sort of friendship. The only time we ever bonded was when our pasts came back to haunt us. But there was never a need for words. It was probably the healthiest relationship I ever had. And it wasn’t even real.

Steve was a nice guy, though, and sometimes when we were playing our roles, I’d believe for a moment that he wasn’t so strained. But Steve wasn’t a very good liar, and being in my house was taking him away from the environment he’d built around himself. Steve was meant to be fighting and protecting. Even when he was asleep, he was as rigid and straight as an arrow. He would get up at the slightest creak or rustle from the raccoon in the attic. He would sometimes pace in the middle of the night. I never complained because I did the same thing.

I tried to put myself in Steve’s shoes. His discomfort was likely caused by his missing friend. I imagined myself losing the person I loved the most and waking up alone, only to be thrust into battle and shoved into a job I never asked for. Then to find that person again. To see them tortured and brainwashed. I didn’t have to imagine why it kept him up at night.

Steve gave me a quick, nervous smile before turning and heading down the driveway to the motorcycle parked on the curb. He climbed onto the bike and kicked the engine to life. It rumbled loudly, and I returned to the kitchen. He’d left his half-empty mug on the table, so I took it back to the sink. A shadow moved from the corner of my eye.

I tried not to freeze. Years of training taught me to be alert for danger. A civilian waitress probably wouldn’t have reacted at all, but I felt my hair stand on end. I paused. Then set the mug down in the bottom of the sink and felt for the bracelet around my wrist. When I turned around, the shadow was standing in the archway, hiding under a dark jacket and baseball cap.

Steve asked me to keep the house as dark as possible. No porch lights. No lights in the backyard. He advised me to turn them off and on as I went through the house. Barnes would be more likely to show up if there were plenty of places to hide. It appeared that Steve was right. But they were all wrong about one thing. They said he wouldn’t show himself to anyone but Steve.

I jumped back against the counter and put my hand over my heart. It was pounding with fear, and I was itching to reach for the panic button just to get out of there. But I knew it just might scare Barnes away for good, and Jarvis was monitoring me anyway. Tony probably already knew I wasn’t alone. We were prepared for this. So I just had to do what I was asked.

He stood just outside the glow of the kitchen light. His shoulders were straight and tense like Steve’s. He was breathing hard, and I couldn’t make out much of his face except for the scruffiness of a growing beard. I couldn’t see enough of him to place a resemblance to the man in the photos, but who else would sneak into my house in the dark?

“Bucky?” I asked. His head moved just a twitch.

“You know who I am?” His voice was low, careful of every word. But despite the rawness of his tone, there was something else in the way he was breathing. An urgency.

“Steve told me about you.” He took a step forward, and I took a step back, sliding my body along the counter. He paused.

“You’re afraid of me.” I took a moment to answer.

“Most people are afraid of strangers in their house.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t know where else to go.” He reached out, and his hand caught in the light, illuminating the blood that dripped from his fingers. “I need help.”

“Oh my god,” I said as instinct kicked in and I rushed forward. His hand shot back to his side. I paused when I realized what I’d done. He was afraid too. “Let me help you. Please?” He hesitated and looked down at his hand. He flexed his fingers as if he wasn’t registering the pain. The blood was flowing freely enough to leave small droplets behind on the linoleum.

“Can you fix it?” he asked.

“I can try.” I reached for him, but he jerked back. “I won’t hurt you. You can trust me.” I put my hands up to show him I was unarmed. “You know Steve? Captain America? He trusts me. He wouldn’t let anything happen to you.” I didn’t know how true that was, but he looked back at me again. His eyes were shaded by the hat but he looked like a cornered animal. Finally he stepped into the kitchen. “Sit down on the chair, okay?”

I pulled one away from the table, and he cautiously limped to take a seat. He rested his other arm on the table. I kept an eye on it. “I’m going to remove your jacket. Is that okay?” He looked up at me and gave a single quick nod. He still seemed uncertain.

I reached forward and gently unzipped his jacket with shaking fingers. I dragged it down to reveal a light cotton shirt that probably didn’t keep him very warm at night. He flexed his fingers again, spreading them out over the table. That was the weapon I had to be careful of.

He let me pull the jacket back and helped slide his arm out of the sleeve so I could examine the gash just above the crease of his elbow. I ran my fingers over his skin, assessing the deepness of the wound and making sure no vital tendons or arteries were punctured. His skin tensed when I touched him, but he didn’t pull away. Luckily, the slice had just skimmed over skin and muscle. But it was in a very soft spot, which explained the amount of blood still flowing freely.

“I can stitch it for you,” I told him. “I used to be a nurse. Or at least, I would have been.” That was a lie. “It doesn’t look too bad, but I want to make sure that skin comes back together.” He nodded. I ran my fingers down his arm, and he chewed on his lip, watching me with narrowed eyes. I hovered over the purple discoloration on his wrist. “What happened to your wrist?”

“Broke it,” he said.

“How long ago?”

“I don’t know. A few weeks. I heal fast.”

“It doesn’t matter how fast you heal if the bone is out of place. It needs to be set. If you ever want to use it again.” His expression darkened.

“I don’t know how,” he finally said.

“I can do that too. It’d be better if I could get you in for an x-ray, but I can probably locate the break with some poking and prodding. It’ll hurt but—I can do it. And you’ll want to keep it wrapped for a while. I don’t have the ability to make you a cast.”

I moved and went to get another chair so I could sit beside him. I gently took his arm and set it on my lap. He tensed again, and I looked back up. His face was a lot closer now, and his nostrils were flared.

“Trust me,” I said.

I poked at the bruises until I could locate the break in his bone. He didn’t flinch or move at all, and the fracture felt clean. I could set it with enough pressure. He wasn’t going to like it, and I didn’t know if the pain would set him off. So I took a deep breath and wrapped my hand around his arm, placing my other palm over the fracture.

“Okay,” I warned him. “On three. Are you ready?” He nodded once. “One, two, three.” Then I pressed down with my palm and yanked his arm back. He grunted from the pain as the bone snapped back into place. He pulled away from me and cradled it against his chest. “I’m sorry.”

He looked surprised that I apologized, but he said nothing. So I went to find my first-aid kit and set it down on the table beside his arm.

“I’m afraid I don’t have anything to help with the pain. Ibuprofen might help with the swelling, but not much else. Not unless you want me to take you to a hospital,” I told him. His eyes darted to mine in panic.

“No,” he said firmly.

“I didn’t think so. Are you hurt anywhere else? I noticed you were favoring one leg.” He made a fist with his left hand, and my fingers twitched for the bracelet. But he relaxed and spread his fingers out again.

“No,” he said.

“The limp?”

“Bruised.”

I nodded and opened the box. My knee bumped into his while I dug around for what I needed, and he quickly moved away. When I turned back to him, he was staring into the dark hallway behind me and holding his broken, bloody arm to his chest.

“So—can I ask you something?” I started, reaching for his hand to pry it from his body. I took a bandage roll and wrapped it around his wrist. He didn’t answer. “I just wanted to know why you came to me instead of Steve. He’s sort of—been hoping you might show up.”

“I know him,” he told me. “I don’t know how. I know that I’m supposed to kill him.”

“So—is that why you came to me? Because you think you have to kill him?”

“I needed help. I didn’t know where else to go. I needed information too. You were the only option.”

I tied off the bandage and secured it tightly around his wrist. Once I was finished, I began cleaning off the blood that dried to his skin and pooled in the crease of his elbow. I moved his hand into my lap and set it there. He didn’t flinch when I cleaned the cut.

“I only know what Steve’s told me about you, which isn’t very much. He’s not much of a talker.” I smiled at him, but he was still gazing across the kitchen. Glaring more like it. I wondered if he could even smile anymore, and how long it had been.

“I’ll take whatever you can give me,” he said. I nodded slowly and reached for a packet with a needle in it. I decided not to tell him anything unless he asked directly. I didn’t know enough about Steve to make it sound authentic. But he didn’t voice anything as he watched me prepare.

“I’m going to start now. It’ll hurt a bit, okay? But I promise I got top marks for this.” He didn’t answer, again. So I slid the needle through the cut and looked up to judge his reaction. His nostrils were flared again, and he’d gone stiff. His gloved metal fingers were clenched into a fist, but he didn’t try to stop me. So I tied off the first stitch and moved onto the next one. “Are you going to tell me what happened?” I asked, starting the second stitch.

“It was an accident,” he repeated.

“You didn’t hurt anyone, did you?”

“I didn’t mean to.”

My most significant flaw was that I acted on instinct, and so did he. I reached up and turned his face toward me. His body froze solid like a rock. He wasn’t accustomed to unexpected physical contact. At least not in a way that didn’t end painfully. His jaw tightened, and his breathing went ragged.

“What did you do?” I asked. “Did you hurt someone?”

“I didn’t mean to,” he repeated in a colder tone. I was too worried about what he might have done to notice the threatening tone his voice had taken. Warning me away like a hissing alligator, preparing for an attack.

“You have to call the police.”

I said exactly the wrong thing at precisely the wrong time. Hydra tried to turn him into a machine, and all I had to do was push the right button. What was moments ago only a confused man, was now a weapon. I heard the other arm power up before it jerked forward and slammed into my chest. I fell back off of the chair and walloped the counter hard enough to smack my head and rattle my teeth. Before I could react fast enough to reach for the bracelet, his metal hand had me pinned to the counter by my collarbone. He was breathing heavier, and his eyes darkened violently. He wasn’t the same man I’d just been talking to. This was the Winter Soldier.

“Bucky,” I said softly, trying to pry his unmovable fingers from my collarbone. They were digging into my skin. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m not your enemy. I’m just a civilian.” I knew that since Hydra was involved, the word “civilian” probably didn’t matter to him. He got his target regardless of who was in the way. So I tried something that might break through the haze. He could break my bones if he really wanted to. He wasn’t trying to inflict pain. Only make a point. “You’re hurting me,” I said through gritted teeth. He released me and stood up. I slumped against the floor and rubbed my fingers over my aching bones.

“You’re just like him,” he murmured as he stepped back toward the darkened hallway. The jacket was still hanging from his shoulder, and the needle dangled by the threat still attached to his skin. He held the bandaged wrist to his chest again. “He wouldn’t want me to hurt anyone either.” Then he walked into the hallway and disappeared into the shadows.

“Bucky, wait,” I said, jumping to my feet. But it was too late. He was already gone. So I dropped back against the counter and rubbed the forming bruise on the back of my skull. I shut my eyes and tried to breathe slowly. What was it Romanoff called him? A ghost.


	10. Chapter 10

The buzzing of a cell phone brought me out of my daze. I was still sitting on the kitchen floor rubbing my collarbone and thinking about cleaning up the trickle of blood he’d left behind. It was late, and I wasn’t expecting anyone to call, so the loud noise brought my attention back into sharper focus. I stood and found the phone on the counter. My sister’s name was flashing across the screen, so I accepted the call and brought it to my ear.

“Hello?” I asked, clearing my throat and trying to find my voice.

“Is he still there? Short answers. No details,” Tony replied.

“No.”

“Did he hurt you?” My collarbone ached and my chest burned. I hesitated to tell him the truth.

“No.”

“You think he’ll be back tonight? Should I call Rhodey? He’s on standby.”

“No. It’s fine.”

“Do you need any help? Anything at all?”

“No.”

“Alright—let me know if you need me.”

“I will.”

“Goodnight. Keep safe.”

“You too.”

I hung up and set the phone back down on the counter. My fingers weren’t shaking anymore, and now that the adrenaline had run its course, I was exhausted. But I had to get rid of the blood before it dried and stuck to the floor. So I went through the robotic motions of finding supplies. Then I sat down on the floor to wipe the blood away. But it left behind a smear of violent red on the floor. I had to shut my eyes and take a deep breath.

My commanding officer, Russell, used to make me count to four like I was imagining my heart beating along. It was how he kept me grounded when he thought I needed it. He reminded me to do it when we stood in an alleyway listening to the sound of gunfire, just moments before I watched a friend die right before my eyes.

“One, two. Three, four,” I whispered, imagining my heart beating along.

Blood never used to bother me so much. It didn’t seem to be a problem when I was putting sutures in Barnes’ arm, but now that it was smeared on the floor, my stomach felt queasy. I swore I could smell the sickly metallic scent hanging in the air. It reminded me of that day. With Tran’s blood still splattered on my face and a little girl bleeding out over my hands.

It was all in my head, I reminded herself. I couldn’t actually smell the blood. There wasn’t enough of it. I took another deep breath and counted all the things I could smell. Bleach, shampoo, and antiseptic cleansing wipes. No blood. I opened my eyes again, counting heartbeats, and washed it away.

I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw blood and felt my fingers digging into flesh in search of a slippery artery. Even though I hardly knew Steve, my house was more welcoming when he was there. So I paced back and forth in my bedroom, watching the shadows on the walls. It was a windless night, but the old house still creaked and groaned. Every sound made my heart jump into my throat. Romanoff called him a ghost, and my room was full of shadows.

I was too lost in my own thoughts to notice the rumble of a motorcycle engine. I jumped when the front door closed, but then remembered Barnes hadn’t made a sound at all. He’d slipped in and out of my house without me noticing. It had to be Steve. I could hear him do a quick check of the house like always. Romanoff said he was supposed to appear relaxed and comfortable, but it was in his nature to check. And Barnes probably would have found it suspicious if he didn’t. I heard him on the stairs and resumed pacing. I didn’t want him to catch me standing by the window, clutching my sweater around my shoulders like a timid deer.

“Hey, I thought you’d be asleep by now,” he said, opening the door and stepping into the room. He was casual. Stark must not have told him. He crossed the room, closer to me, and draped his jacket over the chair under the window. His shield came to rest beside it.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I said. He glanced around the room and then focused on my clutched hands. I was holding the sweater to myself, breathing too quickly. His eyes found mine, and they went from friendly to stern in half a second.

“The kitchen smells like bleach,” he whispered. Then Steve the pretend boyfriend disappeared, and I saw Steve the Avenger. He moved his hand out to pull my clenched fist from my sweater to reveal my shoulders. There were scars on one side and the marks Barnes’ fingers left on the other. He looked at me again.

“Why didn’t you call me?” he asked.

“I thought Stark would have,” I admitted.

“Stark never tells me anything. Why does the kitchen smell like bleach?”

“He was injured. It was minor. At least what he let me see. I had to reset a broken wrist, and I managed to stitch most of a cut before he panicked and left.” I took a deep breath. “I don’t think he was ready to see you. He was—paranoid. Wouldn’t hold eye contact for long. Uncomfortable and agitated.”

“What was he afraid of?”

“I think he’s still under the impression that he has to kill you. Like he failed. And he gets physical when he’s overwhelmed.”

“He hurt you.”

“I’ve had worse, honestly. It’s nothing.”

His eyes flicked to my other shoulder, where the scars from a bullet wound were thick and visible in the darkness. He stepped away so I could pull the sweater back up over my shoulders. I went to the bed to pull the sheets back. I hated admitting how much safer I felt with Steve in the house. It was natural to be afraid of Barnes. If it had been any other intruder, I wouldn’t have felt so nervous. But most intruders weren’t trained killers with above average strength and skill. If I didn’t have anything more powerful than a bracelet and a sparkly pink knife, at least I felt safer with another person. With equally powerful strength and skill.

He reached for the pillow I’d picked up, tossing it aside to pile on all the unnecessary bed decorations Romanoff’s team brought.

“You should have told me,” he whispered. “Regardless of what Stark said or did.” I turned to face him. He was tense, but I felt relaxed now that he was there.

“Steve,” I said, just as quiet, but with more sternness in my tone. “I don’t think he’s ready to talk yet. I can handle it. I don’t think he meant to hurt me. He let me go as soon as I pointed it out. But he’s obviously still got some bugs that aren’t going to go away overnight. I can tell you one thing, though. He’s trying. I could see it. And right now, that’s all that matters.”

“And you think you can fix him?”

“You can’t fix people, Steve. But he came to me for a reason. He still wants to kill you, but he’s capable of knowing that he shouldn’t. He’s piecing things together, and he’s very confused. He needed help, and he chose to come to me because I’m exactly what you and Romanoff wanted. Safe. He’ll reach out to you when he’s ready.” His lips were pinched shut, but he kept his blue eyes on mine. Then he nodded once.

“Just promise me I can trust you. He’s all I have left, Jo.” He wasn’t afraid that I’d hurt Barnes, but that I’d turn him over.

“You chose me for a reason too. Or Romanoff did. I don’t know, but I know I can do this. I won’t let anything happen to him if I can help it.”

“If he gets physical again—you need to press that button. I’ll be here as fast as I can.”

“I know. I will.” I turned back to bed and climbed in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today I bought tickets to meet and do a photo op with Sebastian Stan, and I'm just--too excited for words.


	11. Chapter 11

I knew I’d scared Barnes off by suggesting he call the police. There was the possibility he’d never come back, and I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. Steve decided if a month went by without contact, we’d go their separate ways. He’d go back to hunting instead of playing house, and I’d have to find a new way to pay my mortgage. The first thing on my to-do list was quit the job at the diner.

Romanoff told me to treat the mission like a vacation, but that wasn’t easy. I hated waiting tables more than training in heat and memorizing medical terms. But I had to keep up the charade that I was just a simple waitress who never did anything more exciting than have Captain America in my house a few nights a week.

A few days after Barnes showed up in the kitchen, Steve left early in the morning and told me he wouldn’t be back. He had to go to New York for some secret meeting with Tony. My nervousness about Barnes coming back had waned considerably over the week. So I didn’t have the same reaction when I walked into the living room after work and found him leaning over the couch to shut the blinds. I stopped short in my tracks, and the movement was so abrupt my sneakers squeaked against the floor. He only glanced at me before the blinds went shut and sent the room into shadow.

“You came back,” I noted.

“Yes,” he replied. But the tone suggested sarcasm. "Obviously," he was thinking.

“Can I check your arm?”

“Yes.”

I motioned for him to sit down on the couch and he sat straight-spined and eyes staring directly ahead. I cautiously sat down beside him as he pulled his arm out of his coat. The wound was swollen and puffy now, but healing. I’d given him enough stitches so that it would come back together on its own, but it might leave a scar. I wasn’t sure how his healing worked. But it was more rapid than I’d expected. Each stitch was still long and frayed, the last one sticking out at the end where he’d apparently ripped it with something blunt.

“It looks okay,” I told him. “It’d be better if you’d let me finish, but it doesn’t look infected. Of course, I don’t think you can get infections. But that’s a good sign either way. If you come back in a few days, I can take the sutures out.” I wrapped my hand around his arm to pull the rest of it out of the coat sleeve. The bandage around his wrist was already dirty and falling apart. I unwrapped it and examined his swollen arm.

“You should have removed the bandage when it started to swell,” I said, poking his arm again. “Or at least let it breathe when you were stationary. I would have told you that if you weren’t in such a hurry to leave.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Well, lucky for you I got a few things just in case you came back.” I stood up and went to the kitchen to find the bag. When I returned, he hadn’t moved, but his eyes followed me as I took a seat beside him. “I had a wrist brace, but my wrists are smaller than yours. So I got you a new one.” I ripped off the tag and pulled his arm onto my lap. I secured it around his wrist.

“If it starts to swell again, you should probably give it some breathing room and put some ice on it. But I don’t think you’ll have a problem. You can come here and get some ice if you need to.” I let him go, and he pulled his arm back through his sleeve.

I looked over his face now that I could. He was still wearing the baseball cap, and his brown hair was secured at the nape of his neck with a cheap rubber band stolen from a newspaper. Even though he’d closed the blinds, the room was bright enough for me to see his face. He had an almost full beard and looked tired and dirty. He kept his eyes off of mine. He obviously didn’t like eye contact, and I couldn’t blame him for that.

“Will you tell me what happened?” It was a risk asking him again, but it was essential to make sure no one was dead or dying somewhere.

“I don’t know your name,” he said.

“Johanna. Most people just call me Jo. Now, will you tell me what happened, Bucky?”

“It was him. He broke it.”

“Steve?” He nodded uncomfortably. “What about the cut?”

“I didn’t kill them,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hurt them, but I didn’t kill them.”

“Were they seriously injured?”

“No.”

“That’s good then. Progress, right?” He turned his dark gaze to me.

“Progress toward what?”

“Do you want to kill people, Bucky?”

“I don’t know.” I took a deep breath.

“What do you remember? Do you remember anything from—before?”

“Sometimes. Falling. Snow. Faces. Voices.”

“Steve told me that you fell from a train. Do you remember anything else? Anything concrete?”

“I remember—lying in the snow. Screaming.” He said it with a flat voice, void of emotion. I wanted to put my hand on his shoulder to offer him comfort, but I didn’t know how he’d feel about touching. I'd already made that mistake once.

“If you remember that—then you’ll probably remember more. Just give it time.”

“He said we were friends. I saw—at the museum. I saw my face. He was telling the truth.”

“He told me you were his brother. Not by blood but in every way that mattered. You were all each other had for a time. Probably still are.”

“He has you.” I was startled for a moment, forgetting that lie. Then I nodded quickly.

“Sometimes, I suppose. But it’s not the same. I’m not family. I don’t have any connection to that part of his life. He doesn’t love me like he loves you.” His eyes moved to mine again.

“Maybe he’s afraid,” he offered.

“I don’t think there’s any reason for him to be afraid.”

“Are you afraid of me?”

“No,” I said. I was surprised at how easy it was to answer. He’d scared the wits out of me the other night when he’d shown up in the kitchen. But finally sitting there talking to him and learning about him, I wasn’t afraid anymore. He could still hurt me, but I didn’t believe he wanted to.

“I’m a monster. You should be.”

“You’re not a monster.”

His metal arm moved, and I froze. But his hand just gently brushed the sweater off of my shoulder, revealing the dark purple bruises he’d left on my skin.

“I hurt you,” he observed, almost absently.

“You didn’t mean it,” I tried.

“Yes, I did. I wanted you to be afraid.”

“You’re hardly the first person to put bruises on me.”

“I know that.” He looked into my eyes again. They were dark, not in color but in expression. Sometimes they would slide out of focus, making him seem empty and unseeing. But they were focused now. Calculating despite the lack of expression. “I can see it,” he said.

“You can see what exactly?” I questioned.

“Darkness.”

I reached for his metal hand, and he flinched away, but I wrapped my fingers around his and enveloped both his hands in mine. I wasn’t sure if he could feel me. I didn’t know what kind of technology it was or how it registered pressure. But he used it like he could feel it, and regardless, he could see me holding his hand.

“Did I hurt you again?” he asked.

“No. Did you want to?”

“No.”

“I think you just underestimate the strength of it. You’re not used to using it gently, are you? You’ll get there. And you won’t hurt me again. Right?”

“I meant to hurt you. I wanted to.”

“But you didn’t want to kill me. You could have.”

“I had no reason. You posed no real threat.”

“You were told to kill Steve, and he was a real threat. But you didn’t.” His grip on my hands tightened. I winced but didn’t let him go. “Why not?”

“I failed.”

“You didn’t fail. You made a choice. You did the right thing. And that’s progress. Even if you don’t know what you’re progressing toward yet.”

“You know what they did—what they made me. A monster.” I pulled one of my hands-free from his tight grip.

“Can I touch you?” I asked.

He nodded, so I reached out and held his cheek against the palm of my hand. Maybe they were right to want me to be gentle toward him. He must not have been close to someone in a long time. At least not someone who wouldn't hurt him. He couldn’t go to Steve because his mind hadn’t cleared enough for him to resist hurting his only friend. The familiarity might overwhelm him. He might lash out. He needed a gentle warmth and kindness. The character they were forcing me to play, but not who I really was. I didn’t want to think about his reaction when he found out. I was broken too, but he could already see it.

“You’re not a monster,” I insisted. His expression leaned more toward confused now as he searched my eyes. “What happened to you, what they did—” His grip tightened again, “—It was wrong. And right now you might not know the difference. But your memories will start making sense again. They’ll come back. Probably jumbled, but you’ll eventually learn how to piece them together. And you can be Bucky again.”

“Who has the right to say what’s right and wrong?” he asked. “What if I’m not Bucky anymore?”

“Then you learn how to be who you want to be. Whether it’s Bucky or someone else. You learn how to live, and then you decide for yourself what right and wrong mean to you.”

“How do you know for sure?” I pulled my hand away and locked it around his metal one.

“Because I had to do it once too. Not exactly the same, but….” I reached up and pulled the other side of my sweater down to reveal the scars. His right hand moved and cupped my shoulder, he traced a thumb over the damaged skin. It was the first time in a long time that someone didn’t seem to find the scars disgusting or frightening. No one ever looked at them with the same level of understanding. Not even Steve.

“I didn’t go through what you went through, but I know what it’s like to not know who you are. And to wonder if your memories are real or not. I know what it’s like to feel detached from the person they say you are. And things will never be the same as they were. Maybe you’ll never live a full life. But you’ll live. And that’s what’s important. Do you want to live?”

He looked directly into my eyes again, like he’d never considered that before. I regretted asking him since he probably hadn’t thought to put much value on his life. But he parted his lips, his eyes narrowed in thoughtful confusion. The word “Yes,” came out in a whisper.

“Then it’s progress.”

He moved his hands away and flexed his fingers again. He wasn’t hostile now, but clearly confused. So I kept my distance and waited for him to speak.

“I have to go,” he finally decided.

“You can stay here as long as you need,” I told him. “I have an extra room, and you can take a shower.”

“I can’t.” He stood up and walked toward the hallway. I hurried to keep up with him.

“Will you promise to come back?” He paused by the kitchen archway and turned around to face me, but he kept his eyes on the walls.

“I’ll come back to have the stitches removed. I don’t know how to do it myself.”

“I can work with that.”

“I have to go.”

He turned and opened the back door as if he already knew the house from back to front. I wasn’t surprised. It probably wasn’t the first or second time he’d been there. He disappeared into the yard and left the door open. I followed him out into the growing darkness, but he was already gone once I stepped out into the yard. There was nothing there, and the neighbor’s porchlight didn’t come on. I had no idea where he’d disappeared to. So I shut the door and didn’t turn the lock. I wanted him to know he was welcome to come back.


	12. Chapter 12

Bucky returned a few days later as promised. He’d left quickly the last time, but luckily he actually followed through. This time, I walked into the kitchen after walking Steve out and found him already seated at the kitchen table. His jacket was off, and he was picking at the stitches on his arm. The brace was still on his wrist, and his long legs were stretched out comfortably. He looked almost relaxed, yet positioned in a way that would allow him to spring upright if he needed to. His dirty hair was stuffed under the cap, but it looked like he’d at least tried to brush it out with his fingers.

“Jesus, you scared me,” I said, clutching my pounding heart. He looked up and didn’t answer for a moment. Then something seemed to click, and he realized he was supposed to respond.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to hear him kiss you.” He turned back to his stitches and stuck his arm out. “I think they’re infected.”

“According to Steve, that’s impossible.” I pulled a chair to his side and took his hand into my lap. “Steve told me you can’t get infections. It’s probably just irritated from never being cleaned. When was the last time you took a shower?” I looked up and never got a response. That explained a lot. I went back to the stitches. “I’ll go ahead and cut them out and then you can shower. I have something I can put on it to keep the dirt out. It should help with the irritation too. When was the last time you ate something real?” He didn’t have an answer for that either. I let out a slow breath. “I’ll make you something to eat while you shower? How does that sound?”

He still gave no answer, but I didn’t think he’d been offered any of those things in a while. Hydra probably only fed him and bathed him out of necessity. From what Steve told me, it was like they didn’t even view Bucky as human. So he probably hadn’t eaten anything beyond basic nutritional needs.

I went to find supplies and returned to the seat beside him.

“They might pull a bit, but it won’t hurt as bad as they did going in, okay?” I warned him. He nodded and watched me get to work. Within a few minutes, the sutures were out, and I ran my fingers over the scarring, scabbed skin. “I think this will heal nicely. It might leave a scar for a time but—Steve said they heal quickly too. How did it happen exactly? You only ever gave me vague answers.” He seemed to have grown more comfortable since the last time I saw him. He was already watching me with narrowed eyes.

“They cornered me in an alley and demanded money. I didn’t have any. They had a knife,” he explained.

“But you didn’t kill them?”

“No.”

“You didn’t mess them up too bad, did you?” He studied my mouth, curved up just slightly at the start of an easy smile.

“They’ll live to rob again.”

“How’s your wrist?”

“Better.”

“Any swelling or bruising?”

“No.”

“Keep the brace on for at least the next few weeks. I know you heal quickly, but since I couldn’t get an x-ray, I want to be sure it heals right. Four weeks is the usual time recommended.”

“Okay.”

“Alright, follow me, and I’ll show you to the bathroom.

He followed me up the stairs, and I didn’t look back until I’d reached the closet in the hall. I wanted him to believe I felt safe with him, and part of me wondered if he’d slip away when I had my back turned. I got a few things from the closet and showed him into the bathroom.

“I’ll try to find you something to wear while you’re busy,” I said. “They’ll have to do until I can wash these for you. And I have a spare bedroom—in case you ever need a place to sleep.” I glanced at him, but he still didn’t respond. So I walked him through how to use the shower and where to find what he’d need. I set everything down on the counter and turned back to him. He’d been silently watching me through my walk-through and hadn’t said a single word. He looked ridiculously out of place in the tiny bathroom.

“You’ll probably want to shave too. Steve leaves his razor in the downstairs bathroom if you want to use it. I don’t think he’ll mind. So I’ll go see if I can find you some clothes and I’ll set them on the counter for you. Then I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.” I turned to go but paused. “Also, take the brace off but be careful with your wrist.”

Then I left. He watched me go through the mirror and finally spoke when I reached back to shut the door for him.

“Thank you,” he murmured. He’d said it once before, but it didn’t sound genuine. The words seemed unfamiliar on his lips. Like he wasn’t accustomed to conventional politeness. So I took it as an attempt at normality. It made me smile to see him try.

“You’re welcome, Bucky,” I said. Then I shut the door and left him alone.


	13. Chapter 13

Since Steve was over so often, it was normal for him to leave things behind. Though he hadn’t actually left anything there until Romanoff made the suggestion to allude to his false comfort with me. Bucky was a bit shorter and leaner than Steve, but it was better than what he currently had. So I found a few of Steve’s things and carried them back across the hall to the bathroom. The shower was running, so I knocked on the door.

“Bucky? Are you covered? I’m going to get your clothes and leave clean ones for you, okay?” I asked.

“Okay,” he replied from inside.

I popped the door open and made a quick check to make sure he was behind the shower curtain. His clothes were lying in a pile on the floor. I set Steve’s clean clothes on the counter and knelt down for the dirty ones. Then the shower curtain was ripped open, and I shouted “Oh!” before quickly turning to face the wall.

“I don’t know how to wash my arm,” he said.

“The stitches or the metal?”

“Metal.”

“Um—well—how did they clean it before?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Okay, well just—do your best to not get it too wet—if you can help it—and I’ll try to help you dry it when you’re done. If there are any problems, I might know someone who could give us some advice. How does that sound?”

“Fine.”

“Okay. And uh—nudity, Bucky. That’s not—you know—something we usually show off to one another. Unless asked.”

“Right.” The curtain closed and I ducked my head and left the bathroom, blushing furiously.

I got his laundry going and then searched the cupboards for something to make for dinner. Despite my mother’s insistence that I’d be good at maternal things, I was never any good at cooking. I could follow recipes but rarely thought well enough in advance to plan them. And since I only ever cooked for one, I’d learned just the basics.

Clara and I were what was considered “miracle babies.” More specifically me. Our parents hadn’t met until they were well past thirty and had trouble conceiving. Clara was technically the “miracle baby.” I was the “where the hell did this one come from” baby. Being that our parents were so much older than most kids’ parents growing up, they’d been raised with a different set of values. Mom stayed home and spent the entirety of her day cooped up at home cooking and cleaning. Dad worked and didn't do a whole lot else.

I never wanted to be like that. I loved my mother dearly, but when I was told I was only meant for motherhood, I felt incompetent and worthless. My parents enjoyed the lifestyle, and it worked for them. It brought them happiness. And I respected that. But it wasn’t the life I wanted for myself. And so Clara and I usually hit the road running whenever we suspected our mom was going to give us a cooking lesson.

I wasn’t entirely useless in the kitchen though. But whenever Steve was over we just ordered take-out. The rest of the week I survived off of frozen dinners, waffles, or whatever I brought home from the diner. Bucky probably hadn’t had pizza in a long time, and that was the most delicious thing I could think of that didn’t require mediocre cooking skills.

So I ordered a pizza and sat down at the table to clean up the mess I made. A few minutes later, the shower shut off and I waited patiently for Bucky to come back down the stairs. I didn’t hear him moving at first until he bumped into the wall in the hallway with his metal arm, which made an oddly hollow metallic noise. I had a feeling he’d done it on purpose to avoid startling me. He appeared in the shadowy archway wearing Steve’s clothes and holding my comb in two broken pieces.

“I broke it,” he said, holding it out in two hands.

“Oh my gosh,” I replied. I took the comb and tossed it into the trash. “Do you want me to help with the….” I gestured toward his wet, matted hair. He was staring at me with one eye that was peeking out between the dripping strands. He nodded once.

“Please?”

“I’ll go get a few things. Make yourself at home. I ordered a pizza.” I went back upstairs to find what I needed and returned to find him sitting at the table. He was flexing his metal arm and trying to stretch it.

“How does it look? Should I call my friend?” I asked.

“I think it’s fine,” he replied. He put the brace back on his other wrist and then waited patiently for me to fix his messy hair.

I moved around to his back and looked at the tangled mess. It was long enough so that it brushed his shoulders. But it was clear it hadn’t been washed or combed in a while. I sighed before spraying it down with detangler. Bucky flinched.

“You’re not going to make me as pretty as you, are you?” he asked. I froze with the bottle still raised in my hand. I’d grown to expect the short answers, confusion, and detached stares. I even anticipated anger. But not a flirty comment. I set the bottle down and reached for the brush.

“Steve told me you were a bit of a flirt,” I remarked, combing through the mess. He held still and didn’t give any indication that I was causing him pain.

“I don’t remember,” he said.

“Maybe it’s just in your nature then. Do you remember anything else besides falling from the train?”

“I remember one thing.” He hesitated to continue.

“What’s that?” I prodded.

“A woman. I don’t remember her name. Just that she was like you. Kind.”

“What do you remember about her?”

“I took her out. We drove—to a pier. I told her I was leaving. She said she’d wait for me.” I brushed through the tangles and felt a heavy weight fall over my heart. The girl probably had waited. I wondered how long.

“I’m so sorry, Bucky,” I said.

“You have no reason to be sorry for me,” he muttered.

“Do you remember anything else?”

“Pieces. Some things are starting to become clearer. The train. The others. Commandos.”

“You remember the Commandos?”

“Some things.”

“Do you think it’s because you’re free now? Is that why you’re starting to remember?”

“I think I always did after a while. And then they would….” He stopped, and I kept brushing.

“Did it hurt?” I asked after a long while.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Do you think the memories will come back someday? All of them.”

“I don’t know if I want them to. What about yours? Did they come back eventually?” I paused for a second before running my fingers through his hair and securing it with another hair tie.

“Um,” I finally managed to get out. “I don’t know how it works. Like—memories sometimes just get pushed away. But I don’t think they ever go away. Just fade sometimes. But no—not everything comes back. But it gets easier. I forgot my own name sometimes at first. I still feel like pieces are missing and I just can’t seem to grasp them. Like there’s a screen over where the memories are. They’re there. I just can’t get to them.

“I forgot my family for a while. Sometimes my sister will tell me about things we did together, and I have no idea what she’s talking about. I can see that it hurts her. That’s part of the reason I moved so far away. The worst part isn’t the memories though. It’s the nightmares.”

“I know.” I got the ponytail tied and then stepped away from him. I gathered up the supplies and kept my eyes averted. “I’m done. Let me get something on that cut, and then you can shave.”

“Okay.”

I returned the supplies to the upstairs bathroom and then came back to find something for his cut. He was waiting right where I left him, so I took a seat on the extra chair and gently applied an ointment to his arm. Neither of us spoke, and I could see him watching me. When I was finished, I gave him another smile.

“You can shave now if you want,” I said, motioning toward the bathroom across the hall. “You do know how to do that, right? I mean, your wrist isn’t going to be a problem?”

He stood slowly and didn’t answer right away. He seemed a lot larger in Steve’s brighter and cleaner clothes. Steve never seemed to wear shirts that fit, but it fit Bucky nicely. His arms were bare, and the fabric was tight over his chest. Aside from one arm being entirely metal, it was incredibly crafted. It acted almost as realistically as the other one. Except for his inability to judge his own strength. But I figured that was the purpose of it. To destroy.

He was also taller than I initially thought, but I supposed that’s why he stuck with dark colors. He could hide in them and disappear into the shadows easier. The clothes he showed up in were dirty and dark, but they were chosen for a purpose. Now he was wearing khakis and a light blue shirt. He looked average. And slightly uncomfortable. With his face clean and his hair pulled back, he no longer looked like someone I picked up off the street. I still wanted to see him without the beard though, just to get an impression of Sergeant James Barnes from the photographs.

“I think I’ll manage,” he decided, after watching me give him a slightly intimidated once-over.

I headed into the living room to wait for the pizza while he finished. It came first. I was bringing it into the kitchen as he left the bathroom, clean shaven and a lot more youthful and handsome than I expected.

“Pizza,” I said, holding up the box. He seemed uncertain about the delivery guy. I set it down on the table and went to get dishes. He took the seat against the wall. He examined the box but didn’t speak or move until I set plates down in front of him.

“I didn’t realize your eyes were blue,” I noted. He studied me, curiously. As if he didn’t realize they were blue either.

“Is flirting in your nature too?” he asked. His expression was stoic, but my cheeks blushed anyway. I looked away.

“Just making an observation. You’ve been hiding your eyes since you got here. I couldn’t tell.”

“You don’t hide your eyes. They’re—black?” I focused on opening the box, so she didn’t have to look at him.

“Brown actually,” I informed him. “You’ve just never seen me in sunlight.”

“I think I’d like to.” I stayed quiet and put a slice of pizza on his plate. I slid it over and didn’t look at him.

“What would you like to drink?” I asked, but regretted it as soon as I said it. He was probably only ever given water. Just something necessary for survival. “How about soda? I think I still have some left in the fridge. Steve hates it. Say’s ‘it’s not proper soda pop unless it’s made with real sugar,’” I mocked his voice and the corner of Bucky’s lips twitched into an almost smile.

I brought him the soda without an answer. I set it down on the table and took my place before him. He hadn’t picked up his pizza or his drink. He hadn’t said a word at all as he watched me shuffle around the kitchen looking for clean cups and soda.

“Is everything alright?” I asked, finally looking at him. He was still watching, curious and confused all at once.

“Why are you being kind to me?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I have a hard time trusting people who are kind to me for no reason.”

I was almost offended that he’d taken so long to tell me that he thought my kindness was threatening. Maybe I was laying it on too thick. Maybe he didn’t really mean it when he said he wanted to see my eyes in the sunlight.

But then I realized why he was so untrusting of kindness. Hydra couldn’t have been horrible to him all of the time. They were probably kind to him when they needed him to feel safe. As if what they were doing was in his best interest. It was a typical abuse tactic, and that’s what he looked like to me. A survivor.

For a moment, I considered telling him the truth. Just to gain his trust. It was hard to lie to someone who’d been abused for so long.

I took a deep breath and held my tongue.

“I think that’s a risk you’re going to have to take, Bucky,” I said, reaching for my cup. He held his in his right hand, watching me behind narrow blue eyes.

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see,” he replied. He lifted the glass toward his lips, and I raised mine in a gesture of cheers.

“To kindness and trust, I guess,” I said. There was another almost smile, but he finally took a sip and masked it. The look on his face made me think he knew damn well I was lying about something.


	14. Chapter 14

After dinner, Bucky helped carry the plates to the sink. He stood up, balancing his plate and cup as he reached for mine. But then the plate dropped from his metal hand and smashed against the floor. His eyes immediately darted to me. I wasn’t sure what to make of his expression. Either he was looking for reassurance that he hadn’t done anything wrong, or was angry at himself for dropping it at all.

“It’s alright,” I said, jumping up to get the broom. “I’ll clean it up.”

“I can do it,” he said a little harshly.

He put the remaining dishes in the sink and bent to scoop up the larger shards of broken ceramic. He kept his metal hand on the floor to balance himself, but it was trembling. And since it wasn’t flesh and blood, I doubted it was adrenaline or fear. Especially since the rest of him wasn’t shaking at all. There was something wrong with the arm, but he clearly didn’t want me to know it. So I helped clean up the broken pieces and said nothing about it.

“I’ll wash, you dry?” I suggested once everything was cleaned up.

“Okay,” he replied in his usual one-liner.

He stood at my side and helped wash the few dishes we’d used. I showed him where they went, and he worked without comment, only occasionally bending his elbow and flexing his fist.

We were working on the last cup when the sound of Steve’s motorcycle rumbled down the street. Bucky tensed and looked down at me. His eyes went dark and guarded again. His jaw clenched with tension, and the strands of dark hair had fallen into his face from the ponytail. He looked almost exactly like the man in the pictures now. But a little older. And not that he’d aged much in the past seventy years. Just that a weariness hung around him now.

“Stay,” I whispered. He clenched and unclenched his jaw, but then slowly put the last cup back into the cupboard.

“What will you do if I hurt him?” he asked.

“I won’t let you.” I couldn’t physically prevent him from doing anything, but I hoped he understood I was trying to offer emotional support. He stared down at me until the engine stopped out front of the house. “Let me talk to him first,” I suggested. “Just promise me you won’t leave.”

He said nothing, but I patted his arm and walked out to greet Steve at the door. I wanted to give them both enough time to prepare for it. The lock clicked, and the front door opened. He stepped into the room and found me standing in the hallway, twisting my fingers nervously.

“You didn’t have to wait up for me,” he said. He always said that. Even though it was only nine. “I just came by to pick up a few things.” He glanced at my hands and concerned expression. His eyes moved back to mine, and I nodded.

“He’s in the kitchen,” I whispered. The door shut, and he stood ridged. “I convinced him to stay long enough to shower and eat. I let him borrow some of your clothes and your razor. I didn’t think you’d mind. Just—be gentle with him. That seems to work. And—be careful. He’s still afraid he’s going to hurt you.” His entire body seemed anxious. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he wasn’t even breathing.

I reached for his hand, and he let me take it. Then I gently tugged him toward the hallway. He followed, but I still couldn’t hear him breathing. When we reached the kitchen, it was empty. The window above the sink was open, and I hadn’t even heard Bucky make his escape. He must have panicked and left in a hurry. So I dropped my hands to my sides and sighed heavily.

“I guess he wasn’t ready,” I said. The tension drained from Steve.

“I don’t know if he’ll ever be ready,” he told me. I turned around to face him.

“There’s leftover pizza if you want some. I’ll just get his clothes in the dryer, and then I’m going to bed.” He nodded slowly and watched me furiously stuff Bucky’s wet clothes into the dryer.

“I thought you didn’t do laundry,” he remarked once I got the machine going. I moved to pass him.

“It’s different,” I decided. Then I hurried up the stairs to my room.

I stood at the window for a while looking into the dark backyard. I knew it was probably wrong. I barely knew the guy, and he didn’t even know himself. But I wanted him to stick around and mend things with Steve. I wanted to see some sliver of the best friend Steve talked about. The one he said was a “little shit” and had an easy smile and sarcastic nature. The man who was the brother and friend Steve still missed. With a flirtatious attitude and bounce in his step.

I understood why everyone lied about how easy recovery was. They said I’d be normal again and made it out to be a real possibility. It wasn’t because they actually believed it, but just because they wanted to have hope. I wanted Bucky to be able to live again. I just wasn’t sure if I really believed it was possible or if I wanted that hope. If he could do it, maybe I could too.

But I knew enough about trauma to know that even if he did remember who he was, he’d never be the same. And neither would I.


	15. Chapter 15

I knew it was a nightmare the moment I saw him. When I stood there among the rubble and broken bodies. All I could hear was screaming and faded ringing in my ears. I could feel the heat of fire and the prickles of burns across my face. For a moment, I forgot I wasn’t at home, safe in my bed.

Until the smoke parted, and the screaming stopped. All I could see was the man with the dark, emotionless eyes and an arm made of metal. He walked with confident strides. He knew where he was going and had no reason to run. I was his mission now.

Steve told me all he could about what really happened in the skies above DC. Bucky had been instructed to kill him. He believed this was the mission that caused the Winter Soldier’s unraveling. But he didn’t look like that man as he marched across the courtyard and right toward me. This wasn’t the man who had pizza in my kitchen or expressed his concerns in my dull living room. It was the killer I was warned about. The Winter Soldier. The ghost.

He stopped just before me and lifted his rifle. He could have shot me from afar and been done with the mission all at once. But he wanted me to see his face before he pulled the trigger. To know that this mission would always be more important than me.

Or it was a test. He wanted me to shoot first. I had my rifle against my chest, prepped and ready for use. But I couldn’t bring myself to turn it. It didn’t matter that my life was in danger or he was a stranger to me. I couldn’t do it.

It didn’t matter how I felt anyway because I knew I was dreaming. And he was no longer a stranger. He was Bucky. I didn’t know him very well, and his mind was fragmented. But he was a someone. With a desire to be free. To be anything other than what they created him to be.

The man in front of me had no intention of being anything other than the monster. His eyes were cold like ice, and the mouth that was born to smile was set in a firm straight line. He wanted me to shoot, or he would shoot me. I stood straight and stared him in the eyes.

“I won’t shoot you, Bucky,” I said.

He snarled and lifted the gun so that the barrel pointed to the scar on my shoulder. He pulled the trigger, and I jumped up to shout. My shoulder ached with pain, and I rubbed a hand over the damaged skin. I counted my heartbeat. One, two. Three, four.

I was at home in bed. The room was dark and shaded, but empty. Steve had decided against going home for the night. He thought I might like the company, but he wasn’t there anymore. I hissed and rubbed the pain from my shoulder. The house was quiet when I stepped into the hallway.

“Steve?” called.

There was no response. He hardly slept, and even if he were on the couch, he would have heard me. I was sure my nightmare shout alone was loud enough to wake him up even if he’d fallen asleep on the couch.

I crept to the end of the staircase and looked down into the darkness of the living room. There was a nervous twinge in the pit of my stomach. Sometimes it was hard to make sense of things soon after dreams. I couldn’t remember what was real and what wasn’t.

I headed down the stairs and hit the switch at the bottom. A lamp in the corner of the room illuminated the space, but the room was devoid of life. It didn’t look like anyone had slept on the couch. The quilt was still neatly folded on the back of the sofa, unused. I turned down the hall and finally spotted him. The back door was open, but the screen was closed. I could see the silhouette of his body against the neighbor’s porch light.

I opened the screen and stepped out into the chilly night air. I took a seat on the porch beside him and crossed my arms to fight off the cold.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

“Same as always,” I replied. “But I saw him this time. Can’t shake it. What about you? Doesn’t look like you even tried.”

“Couldn’t sleep. Something tripped the light. It was probably a cat or the raccoon. But—I came out here anyway. Sometimes I come out here when you’re asleep. Maybe I’m just hoping he can hear me.”

“Do you think you’ll ever get him back?” He breathed in and out slowly, taking his time getting to the answer. The condensation turned to fog in the chilly air. Then he moved his arm and wrapped it around me so I could steal his warmth. I rested my head on his shoulder.

“No,” he finally said. “Not the Bucky I knew, anyway. But you might.”

“Does it bother you that he came to me first?”

“No, I just wanted him to be safe. And I think you’re the right person.”

“You finally trust me?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Thank you for being here, Steve. I know that—I’m not who you want to be here with, but I appreciate it anyway.” He turned and planted a kiss on the side of my head. It didn’t feel like one of the forced PDA kisses. It was meant for me, and not because he had feelings for me, but maybe just because he considered me a friend. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a real friend.


	16. Chapter 16

I was hoping Bucky would be back soon. But after that night, I didn’t see him again for a while. Every time Steve left, or I got home from work, I walked into an empty house feeling disappointed that no one was waiting for me. Every time something tripped the sensor light next door, I went to the window in the hopes that it would be him. It never was.

Steve rarely slept in my bed. I knew it made him uncomfortable from the start, but after that first night, he would doze for a while and then I’d wake up later to find him sitting on the back porch waiting for the shadows to move. Sometimes I joined him. Sometimes I just brought him a quilt. Most of the time I left him alone with his thoughts.

I woke up one night to the soft murmur of his voice from the backyard. I wondered if he was on the phone, but when I went downstairs to check on him, he wasn’t sitting in his usual spot on the steps. He was standing in the middle of the yard. Bucky was standing several feet away. He was wearing his own clothes again. I’d forgotten to take them out of the dryer, which meant he probably came back for them and I never even noticed.

I leaned against the wall and shut my eyes. I was glad he was back and happier that he’d finally decided to talk to Steve. But they were standing so far apart, and their body language was tense. Both of them were ready to bolt or fight if the other made a move.

I couldn’t make out what they were saying. They were speaking so low that only a few words manage to slip through the darkness. The only thing I knew for sure, was that Bucky was telling Steve he could never “be” Bucky again.

I knew it wasn’t my place to get involved in their conversation. They were long overdue for a talk, and they needed to be alone, but it was getting under my skin. I paced a few times before Steve loudly cleared his throat.

“You can come out, Jo,” he said. I cringed and popped my head around the corner.

“I wasn’t eavesdropping, I promise,” I said. “Well, maybe just a little.” Steve just smiled and motioned me over. So I met the two of them on the grass. “I didn’t mean to overhear. I just came to check on you. And I know it’s wrong. Your business is yours.”

I looked up at Bucky. He still had his hair tied back, but the cap was gone. Even though he was messy and dirty again, he looked like he’d at least tried to clean himself up before coming.

“Look,” I said, nervously twisting my fingers. “I know that you feel—disconnected. From your past and the whole world. And I know that you want him back, Steve. But that Bucky isn’t coming back. Just like that Steve won’t come back. And you may still be him, but you’re not the same. That’s the whole point of living, though. We change. And Bucky—you’re at a crossroads now. You can be whoever you want to be. Bucky or the Winter Soldier or someone entirely new. The choice is yours. But no matter what, who you were in the past—those people are still going to be part of you. You just have to choose how you want to live your life from this moment on.”

He looked across the yard, and Steve watched him. I didn't mean to make a speech, but I didn’t want him to think he had to try to be something he wasn’t anymore. I knew when I came back I wasn’t the same girl who’d left, the one with blind optimism and a thirst for adventure. I couldn’t be that girl again, even if I wanted to. Coming to that realization was an important part of the recovery process.

“Bucky has people who love him,” I continued since neither of them spoke. I pulled my sweater around my arms to keep the chill out but stared at the grass. “He doesn’t have to be alone if he doesn’t want to be. And if you decide you don’t want to be Bucky anymore—you don’t have to. But I know from experience that it won’t go away. Bucky will always be part of you and so will the Winter Soldier. And so will Steve.” I took a deep breath. “And me if you let me.”

“They’re going to come looking for me,” he said. “Whatever’s left of them. They’re not going to let me go so easily. And if they don’t get to me first—someone else will. There’s no life for me in this world. Not like the life you have.” I bit my lip and nodded.

“Yeah, I know. Just know that you have a family. And Steve will do what he can to protect you. Even if you think you don’t need it. Steve and me and—my friends. If you want to start your life over as some boringly average person, we can try to help. Whatever choice you make, we can help.”

“How did you do it?” he asked. “How did you decide who to be?” I took a deep breath and shuffled my feet on the cold, damp grass.

“I ran away,” I admitted. “I thought I was hurting the people who loved me, but—I miss them. And I’m lonely. And it wasn’t until I was gone that I realized they were the only ones who could help, and it hurt them more to leave. When I’m with the people I love—I feel like I can be me again. Even if I’m not the same as before.”

“What if that isn’t an option? What if being with the people you’re told you love isn’t an option?”

The crickets were loud, and the sky was hazing with dull light pollution and low lying clouds. I wanted to ask him why it wasn’t an option for him, but I wasn’t sure what he meant. Either Steve or Hydra or whoever he’d left in his past. I just didn't have an answer.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I guess you just have to do whatever you can to be the best version of yourself. Be true to who you are. Even if it’s not what other people want.”

He reached out and pressed the palm of his hand against my cheek like I’d done that night on the couch. The metal was freezing against my skin, but I leaned into it anyway. He’d been a weapon who’d been broken and tortured, but there was still warmth in his heart. I wanted him to see it in himself. Even if he wasn’t Bucky anymore.

“Then I have to go,” he murmured.

“Please don’t leave?” He looked conflicted but stepped away anyway. He cast one last glance at Steve before hopping over the fence that separated my yard from my neighbor. The light came on, but the night went quiet except for the sound of crickets and distant sirens. Steve moved to my side, but neither of us spoke until the light turned off and flooded the yard with darkness again.

“Do you think he’ll be back?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied.

I turned and headed back to the house. I made it all the way to the bedroom before the heaviness sunk in. I sat down on the bed and faced the dark window. My eyes felt hot like I wanted to cry. And I hated crying. I hated my job. I wanted life to go back to normal. Not my normal, though, I supposed. Not nightmares and loneliness and filing paperwork in a boring office that wouldn’t even allow music to drown out my own thoughts.

I wanted to go home to Ohio to my bedroom with the silly posters and my sister’s irritating organization rules. Where I could sleep without fear and be still blissfully unaware of suffering. I wanted to return to a time where I didn’t have to count my own heartbeats just to do routine tasks or remind myself what was real and what wasn’t.

The floor creaked. Steve knew I was upset too, but I’d wiped the moisture from my eyes before he could see. I hated crying in front of people more than crying itself.

“I don’t want this mission to be over, Steve,” I said, despite how badly I wanted to go home to my mom and dad. “I don’t want to fail.”

“I don’t think we failed, Jo,” he said. “We did exactly what we set out to do. We made contact. And to be honest, I think it worked out far better than I expected. He’s not himself, but I don’t think I expected him to be. He wants to be a good person. That’s more than I could have hoped for. He chose to leave because you told him to be the best version of himself even if it wasn’t what others wanted. He thinks this is best for us.”

“How could it be best for anyone? I told him we wanted him here.”

“He thinks you’re my girlfriend, Jo.”

“So?” I turned to face him. He was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. His eyebrows rose, and he smirked like I was missing something undeniably obvious.

“You really didn’t notice?” he asked. I shook my head, confused.

“I’m just trying to help. It’s not like that.”

“Maybe not for you.” I turned away and ran my hands over my face.

“It can’t be like that. We barely talk. He doesn’t actually know anything about me.”

“He doesn’t have to, but I know Bucky better than anyone. You were the first person to show him any genuine kindness in a long time. Bucky was always a bit of a flirt already. Honestly, it’s a relief. It means some part of him is still there, even if he doesn’t realize it or understand it. And I mean—I’m not surprised. You were always more his type than mine.” I leaned on my elbows and looked at the tree shadows on the window.

“If that’s the case, then I really messed up. That wasn’t part of the plan.”

“You didn’t mess up. We’ll stick to our plan. If he doesn’t come back within a month, we’ll move on. Like we agreed. But we should—be aware that he might come back again. Even if I'm not here anymore. Now that he’s established something with you.”

“I just don’t want him to get hurt.”

“I don’t either."


	17. Chapter 17

The next morning, Steve and I had coffee together in the kitchen. We hadn’t spoken since the evening before, and my nightmare-free sleep kept us apart for the rest of the night. I woke up to find that he’d slept on the couch and was already showered and getting the coffee started by the time I wandered down. We served ourselves, and I stood against the counter while he sat at the table.

“I forgot to tell you that I have something for you,” he said, digging into his pocket for his wallet. He took out a piece of paper and slid it across the table in my direction. I stepped forward and lifted the check.

“I can’t take this,” I said, setting it back down on the table.

“Why not? I agreed to make up the difference.”

“Because I don’t want it.”

“How are you going to pay your bills?”

“I’ll find a way.” I turned and dumped the rest of my coffee in the sink. If the diner was good for anything, it was that I got free coffee all day.

“Why?” he asked as I reached for my phone and slid it into my pocket.

“I’m not doing this for you anymore. Or for money.”

“You’re doing it for him.”

I left without another word and went to start my shift at the diner.

The morning was uneventful. The breakfast shift was my favorite to work because most of the customers were quiet. The majority of them came for coffee and simple meals and didn’t fuss very much. The only issues came from bright-eyed children or picky elders. It was the lunch and dinner shifts I couldn’t stand, but thankfully, I wasn’t on the dinner shift. However, lunch was the favorite time of day for those damned milkshakes, and it was difficult to find a moment to sit down.

I was in the middle of refilling some salt and pepper containers when Marion alerted me to another visit. Marion found me at a back table and groaned as she sat in the chair.

“Your hot friend is back,” she said.

“Wilson?” I asked. She shrugged.

“You never told me his name. But he wanted to talk and asked if you could make him a peanut butter cup shake.” I groaned this time, and she smiled. “I’m just kidding. He asked for a Coke. You want me to get it?”

“Yeah, I’d appreciate it. And could you bring him some fries? He likes them even though he doesn’t ask.” I stood and took the bottles to refill.

“You ever going to tell me his name, or is it just Wilson?”

“Sam,” I said. Marion nodded and glanced over my shoulder at where Sam was leaning against the bar, poking at a jukebox selector.

“He’s cute. Is he the occasional guy friend?”

“No. Different guy.”

“Good. So he’s single?”

I didn’t answer. I moved past and went to tell my manager I was taking a break. When I returned from the kitchen, soda in hand, Sam was waiting for me in the back booth with his arm stretched out over the seat. I set the drink down on the table and took my place in front of him. I was so grateful for the chance to be off my feet that I could have hugged him.

“What’s up?” I asked. He took his time pulling the straw out of the wrapper.

“Haven’t talked to you in a while. Figured it was a good time to check in and see how you’re doing,” he explained.

“What’s there to talk about? Doesn’t Steve keep you updated? Or is there more I need to know?” He stuck the straw into his drink and finally looked at me.

“I didn’t come here on behalf of Steve. I came for you. To apologize.” I shook my head in confusion.

“For what?”

“For what I said about Barnes the last time I was here.”

“I don’t really remember what you said.”

“I deal with this kind of stuff a lot, and I should have put it together when we met. You were right about Barnes. Or at least, I think you’re right for wanting to help him. Both of you. Being alone makes it worse, and he’s making progress because he’s not alone. But you—you’re still alone. And I’d like to change that.”

“What do you mean?” He slid over a business card. I reached out to take it.

“I’m a coach, of sorts,” he explained. “For soldiers. People like you.” I nodded slowly.

“Did you read my files?” He smiled.

“Didn’t have to. I can see it. Not to mention, Steve might have said a few things that tipped me off.”

“Right. Did he tell you I was lonely?”

“More than that.”

“I think I’m alright. Considering. I did have a therapist. Of course, she turned out to be working with Hydra but….”

“That’s not what this is about, though. I’m not trying to preach therapy to you. I do see the benefits of therapy when they’re not Hydra, though. I just want you to know that you’re not alone. And there are people just like you who’d love to talk. You don’t even have to talk about what you’ve been through. Sometimes just having someone who understands is enough.”

“How did you do it? How did you come back home and—go back to being normal?” He looked around to make sure no one was listening.

“I wish I could say it was easy. Or that I went back to normal, but I’d be lying. I know what it feels like when you think there’s an emptiness inside you. I know you froze and you got shot. I know you think you couldn’t save someone. But I also know what you did when someone’s life was on the line.”

“There were plenty of lives on the line when I froze.” My voice caught, and I pinched my mouth shut. He was patient and shook his head slowly.

“You know that’s not true,” he said. “You beat yourself up over it and you feed yourself lies to feed your guilt. Those kids—I wish I could say that there was some magical solution that could have saved them. But there wasn’t. You were one person. And they didn’t die because one person froze. The man who shot you—if you’d shot first—would it really have made a difference? There were more of them then there was of you. You did what you had to do when it mattered most. You put your life on the line to save your Colonel. The problem isn’t that you freeze. It’s that you value other lives more than your own and you got caught in a situation where you couldn't save everybody.”

I turned away and wiped my eye. He was looking, but I hoped he hadn’t noticed. But it was his job to see when people weren’t right or when they couldn’t get their lives back.

Luckily, Marion decided that was the perfect time to bring the fries. She came up to the table smiling and set the basket down between us.

“Is there anything else I can get you, hon?” she asked, putting a gentle hand on Sam’s shoulder. He smiled back and shook his head.

“I’m great. Thank you.” She looked at me, and even though she was smiling, there was still a question in her eyes.

“What about you?” she asked, and I didn’t think she was asking if I wanted something. She wanted to know if I needed help. I shook my head.

“No, I’m fine,” I assured her.

“Let me know if you need anything. At all.”

“I will.” She walked off, and Sam waited for her to leave, which gave me enough time to regain composure.

“Look,” he said, reaching for a fry. “I know what it’s like to come home and feel like you’ve left a piece of yourself on the battlefield. No matter what happens and no matter how much you might have hated it, that part of you always stays where you left it. That’s why I helped Steve when he asked me. It made me feel like I had a purpose again. That’s why Steve keeps doing what he’s doing.”

“I don’t want to go back to that life. I don’t ever want to watch someone die again,” I argued.

“Neither do I, and that’s why I did it. To stop people from dying.” I looked away, and Sam shrugged. “So you can’t pull a trigger. That’s fine. Agent Barton doesn’t use a gun. Most of the time.” He munched on some fries as I thought about this. “Maybe your pink knife is your bow and arrow. Pink sparkle knife is your Project Falcon.” I laughed and rubbed my eyes.

“I just want to be normal, Sam.” He nodded slowly.

“That’s fine too, but that isn’t an option for all of us. Some of us thrive on it, you know. Me, Steve, Natasha. Maybe normalcy isn’t in the cards for Barnes either. Maybe he’s just hoping to find a purpose. We just gotta make him switch sides.”

“He doesn’t need to take orders from anyone anymore. He needs to be able to choose which side he wants. Even if it’s not ours.”

“You know how many orders we broke when we took down those helicarriers? How many orders do you think Steve and his Avenger pals broke when they went up against those aliens in New York? Barnes doesn’t need orders, I agree. But he is a soldier. By choice. If he wants to live his life in a warm little house eating pizza with cute girls, more power to him. I encourage that. All I’m saying is that it might not be an option for him. It might not even be what he wants.” I considered his words for a long moment.

“You’re right, I suppose,” I reluctantly agreed. “Some of us just aren’t meant for a boringly average life. Maybe I just shouldn’t have gotten involved.”

“I don’t think that’s true either,” he said, pointing a fry at me. “You took the job because you were looking for something. What was it? It wasn’t just a paycheck, I know that much. You’re overqualified for most jobs. Including this one. It was something else. And whatever we’re doing—it’s working. Barnes chose you for a reason. I know he’s got a little thing for you.” He smiled. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not right. Maybe you need each other.”

“It doesn’t feel right.”

“Why not?”

“Look at everything he’s been through. I’m not well off either. It would be a disaster.”

“Who said? Look. I’m not saying you should be his girlfriend.” He laughed again. “All I’m saying is that he feels safe with you and you seem to want to help him. I know you turned down Steve’s check. So you’re clearly in it for something else. I don’t think it’s because you have a thing for the guy. But you’re getting something from this mission. Maybe he’s helping you as much as you’re helping him.”

“I just—don’t want those kinds of feelings to get in the way of his progress.”

“I don’t think it’s getting in the way. It’s not like he’s made a pass at you. But maybe those feelings are fueling his progress.” I groaned loudly. There was no arguing with him, and I was too exhausted to come up with another excuse. I lifted the business card again, deciding to end the conversation.

“So when do you have your meetings?” I asked.

“On the back,” he replied.

“I’ll try to swing by when I get the chance.”

“I hope you do.”

“I have to get back to work, though. This is the only job I have now.” He nodded again.

“I’ll see you.” I stood up and turned back around.

“I’ll cover it. My tab. You were right. It’s nice to have someone to talk to. Thanks for stopping by.”

“Nice try. I’ll cover it. I only refused last time to make Steve do it. But it’s not happening again.” I smiled and stuck the business card in my apron.

“I’ll keep you updated on my casserole plans.” He grinned.

"You better. I'm counting on it."


	18. Chapter 18

A week had passed without a word from Bucky, and I almost couldn’t find the motivation to keep going for another three. I wanted to quit the diner and even considered taking Tony up on his offer. I could sell my house and be done with the mortgage forever. I could be closer to my sister again. But I didn’t want to leave Bucky behind. I knew he’d be back. Maybe in another week. Maybe a whole year. I just knew it wouldn’t be the last time I heard from him.

One day, when I was working a later shift at the diner, I spent the morning trying to find something to do to fill the time. Steve was busy, and I hated that he and Sam had become my only friends. I’d lived years of my life with barely any contact with other people. Now I was anxious when alone.

I decided to go to the Smithsonian to see Steve’s exhibit now that I’d gotten to know him. I’d only been once before when Clara dragged me on one of her visits. But I hadn’t paid much attention. Because back then Steve was just a historical figure who occasionally walked around the Triskelion. I didn’t think I’d ever get to know him. Now I got to see him walk around my house and the vibranium shield found a nice home on my armchair every few nights.

The exhibit didn’t do anything to ease my anxiety. There were pictures of Bucky everywhere. And not the one I knew, but Steve’s Bucky. Their closeness was evident. It was easy to see their ease with one another. I’d never seen Steve so relaxed and comfortable. Their smiles were startling unfamiliar. It was the kind of friendship that grew from time. It was a history; a brotherhood. I didn’t know if it was strong enough to survive what they’d gone through for the past 70 years.

I watched the videos for a long time. I hoped it would make me feel better to see Bucky when he was still happy, but it felt worse. I could barely recognize him. I’d grown used to seeing his features, but he seemed so much more alive in the videos and pictures. Even when all he was doing was standing beside Steve. There was more vibrancy in the way he held himself. So unlike the man who stood in my kitchen, staring emotionlessly at dark shadows.

I left before going through the whole exhibit. I was planning on just putting in some overtime, but the thought of making milkshakes when I didn’t have to turned me away. So instead, I sat in my car in the parking lot and pulled Sam’s card out of the pocket of my apron. If I was fast enough, and didn’t get caught in traffic, I might be able to make the end of a meeting.

The meeting was already almost over when I got there. I followed the sound of Sam’s voice through the hallway and stood at the open door to watch him work. He was standing at the podium at the front of the room, just casually talking to a large group of people. Even though they were all dressed as civilians, there was a familiar darkness in their features.

His eyes moved across the room and spotted me, cutting off his monologue mid-sentence. He smiled and turned back to the group.

“Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to a friend of mine,” he said, gesturing toward me. Heads turned in my direction, and I stepped forward nervously. “This is Corporal Hayes. Special Forces. Also a close friend of Captain Rogers. And a hero. But she won’t let you tell her that.” Everyone clapped, and I went to Sam’s side.

“Sorry I’m late,” I said.

“It’s alright. I’m glad you came.” He gave me a pat on the back.

“I don’t really want to talk or anything.”

“That’s fine. You can just listen. We were just finishing up anyway.”

“Okay. I’m going to take a seat now.”

“Alright, you do that.” I hurried away from the podium and found a place to sit beside a young kid with crutches.

Unfortunately, the meeting didn’t last much longer. When Sam finished, he approached me. Everyone was saying goodbye and hugging and smiling. People were laughing, and Sam looked over them like a proud mother duck.

“Do they know about you stealing top-secret military equipment and nearly destroying DC?” I whispered. He laughed and shook his head.

“Not a clue.”

“But they do know you’re friends with Rogers.”

“I sort of blackmailed him into making an appearance so I could impress the girl at the front desk.”

“Nice. I wonder how many more tips I could get if I blackmail him into coming into the diner.” He laughed heartily. I liked the way he laughed. It was easy and comforting.

“It’s worth a shot. People pay extra for the old man.”

“Thank you for inviting me. I have to get to work, though, or I’ll be late.”

“It’s not a problem. You’ll be here next week, right?”

“I’ll try.”

“I’ll hold you to it. And you still owe me a casserole.” I laughed and waved goodbye.

“I’ll call you about the casserole. I don’t actually know how to make one. But how hard can it be?”

“You better. But there better be board games too, or I’m not coming.”

I headed toward the hall when a man limped over to me and stuck his hand out. I reached out to shake it politely, but really just wanted to get out of there without having to talk. He enveloped both my hands in his.

“I just wanted to thank you for your service,” he said. I shook my head.

“Thank you. But Wilson just likes to give me more credit than I deserve,” I assured him. I looked passed him and hoped I could come up with a good enough excuse to leave.

“Humility was always your weakness, Agent Hayes,” he said. Then he stepped closer, and his arm snaked around my back, gripping my shoulder a little tighter than I was comfortable with. I froze in panic, and he leaned over to whisper in my ear. “Hail Hydra,” he said. Then he slipped out of the door faster than I thought he'd be capable of. I stood in stunned silence for a minute before it registered that I had to do something.

The crowd was dissipating, and people were saying goodbye to me as I blocked the exit. I finally snapped back into focus and turned to find Sam. He was still by the podium in the middle of a conversation with the tall, skinny kid on crutches. I rushed to him with my heart hammering. His eyes locked on mine and sensed my distress. He told his companion to give him a minute and rushed forward to meet me.

“What’s the matter? Are you okay?” he asked.

“Did you see the man I was talking to?”

“Yeah, I know him. He’s a….”

“He’s Hydra.”

“What?”

“He’s Hydra. He called me Agent and then said ‘Hail Hydra.’” He shook his head.

“That can’t be true. Why would he come out now?”

“Well, he is, Sam. He’s probably been keeping an eye on you.”

“But why would he admit it to you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they know about Bucky.”

“Alright, alright. Let’s stay calm. I’ll call Steve.”

“They’re going to come back for him, aren’t they? For Bucky?” He scanned the room.

“They’re still out there,” he said. “And you know what they say about cutting off one head.”

“We have to find him.”

“He’ll come to you first, Jo. Let him come when he’s ready.” I sighed and shook my head.

“We can’t let them take him again.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but a loud explosion broke the calm quiet of the room. The building rattled, and dust fell from the ceiling. There were shouts and screams throughout the hall. Sam rushed toward the windows to look outside. I followed after him.

“It was in the parking garage,” he said. Then turned to look at me. I chewed on my lip.

“My car was on that level,” I told him.


	19. Chapter 19

Steve was upset. Not like I expected though. He wasn’t raving and storming or throwing things. That was the kind of anger I was accustomed to from large men. Instead, he was just pacing the kitchen silently as I sat at the table holding a cup of coffee. He didn’t say anything, but his jaw was clenched, and it was apparent he wasn’t happy about Hydra blowing my car into pieces.

“They know,” he finally said. I nodded and took a sip.

“Believe it or not, I figured that out,” I replied.

“I think you should go stay with Stark.” I shot him a glare.

“I’m not going to stay with Stark. I’m staying right here.”

“They blew up your car, Jo. You think they’re going to stop there?”

“Of course not. But they did it for a reason. You just have to calm down long enough to think logically.”

“I am thinking logically.”

“Strategically then. Right now your response is just to get me safe. But I’m not just some random civilian caught in the crossfire. The guy may not have known I would be there, but it was a deliberate move. He knew I wasn’t in the car. He wanted me to know it was him and why. It was my fault anyway. I should have known they’d have someone watching Sam.”

“It doesn’t matter if you went or not. They would have sent someone after you eventually. They were sending a message. Killing you would have set Bucky off. He’s too dangerous to them if you’re dead. But they want you to know that they know what you’re doing. It was a warning. They’re going to come back for him.”

“Stark has this place wired from top to bottom. He told me Jarvis even scans for interference. If someone sets foot in my house, Stark will know. If I get scared of a spider in my bathtub, he knows. Don’t underestimate him. He’s brilliant. An asshole, for sure. But brilliant.” He sighed and leaned against the counter. He crossed his arms over his chest and shut his eyes.

“Bucky’s not going to come back if he knows they’ve got a tail on you.” I set the mug down on the table and watched the steam swirl away from the top.

“He’s not going to come back if I’m with Stark either. We have to do what we can.”

“I don’t want you to put your life at risk.”

“Like I said, I’m not doing this for you. And I get to choose what I do with my life. I’m not actually a fairy princess, alright?” I huffed in irritation. “I know that’s what I was supposed to be. But you must not have given my files a thorough read if you actually believed it. You shouldn’t have given me the job if that’s the case. Unless you gave it to me because I just happened to be in the same building at the same time.”

“That’s part of the reason,” he said with a smile. I let out a frustrated laugh.

“Well, I’m not going to give up so easily. Just don’t treat me like a delicate little flower, and we’ll get along just fine. I played the part for you, but I’m still a soldier. And I was damn good.”

“I know you were. I just don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

“It’s not you. And—maybe Sam was right. He said some people thrive on this kind of life. He said we miss it sometimes. Maybe I’m like that too. I don’t know if I’m cut out for boring and normal. Because—I know it sounds crazy—but when I was helping people today—evacuating—making sure no one was hurt?” I sighed. “I felt alive again. So I don’t know. Maybe I’m just saying that I want to help you take down Hydra in any way I can. I just need you to treat me as your equal and not collateral damage. We can be friends.” He looked back up with the face of a reprimanded puppy dog. But he nodded curtly.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to get hurt, and I was wrong to underestimate you. I just want you to know what you’re getting yourself into. They’re not going to stop. But I have your back.”

“I appreciate it.” I stood up and headed into the hallway.


	20. Chapter 20

The next morning, I had to call Marion for a ride to work. I’d been accidentally calling her both Morgan, Marion, and Megan, but she never bothered to correct me. I was starting to feel guilty for always getting it wrong, but felt too bad to ask now. When I stepped outside to wait for my ride, there was already a car parked in the driveway. A shiny black thing with an obnoxiously large red bow on the roof.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, walking over to it. I ripped the tag off the bow. I didn’t need to read it to know exactly where it had come from and why it had a big ugly bow on top. I only knew one person with the ability to deliver a brand new car overnight.

“Temporary,” the tag said. “Your sister says it’s temporary. It’s temporary. Just put that on the card. Love Stark or something.” Since it was printed, Jarvis was probably responsible for making the tag, and Tony either hadn’t bothered to double check, or he thought it was funny. I groaned anyway and yanked the entire bow off of the roof before any of the neighbors could see it. Then I dragged it back into the house to call Tony and let Marion know I wouldn’t need a ride after all.

“Yep?” Tony said answering. Because a simple “hello” wasn’t cool enough for him apparently.

“The car in my driveway. Yours or Hydra’s?”

“That would be mine. It has a better computer than your—well your computer. No bombs. Access to Jarvis.”

“And it’s temporary? You didn’t make that clear enough on the card.”

“Just a loan. Unless you don’t want it to be. Your sister insisted that I called it a loan and reminded me that it’s wrong to buy cars for your girlfriend’s sister.”

“It is. You’re a big child in a shiny suit, Tony,” I said, heading back outside. “I mean that with love, of course.”

“Good. Because that’s how I took it. But I should remind you that you’re the one with people blowing up your cars.”

“You know what? You were on their list first, okay? And you have no room to talk because someone is trying to kill you every other weekend.”

“Fair enough.”

“Where are the goddamn keys? I have to get to work.”

“Fingerprint.”

“You have my fingerprint? Are you serious? This is some grade-A stalker behavior, Tony. Should I be worried?”

“Someone forgot to eat her Wheaties this morning.” I yanked the car door open and slid into the soft leather bucket of a seat. The finger pad definitely looked like a scanner.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve had a rough couple of days. A simple rent-a-car would have covered at least three Christmas gifts.”

“I have access to your fingerprint because you’re a former SHIELD agent. And I gave you the car because I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but you’ve been personally selected by a terrorist organization. And the car scans for bombs.” I shut the door and pulled the seat forward.

“Well, thank you, Tony. I really do appreciate it. And I’ll give the car back when I can afford a new one. Or when I can make payments.”

“The only way you’d be able to afford that car is if you came to work for me. Consider it a business perk.” I pressed her head against the steering wheel. It was so tempting. If it weren’t for Bucky, I probably would have taken it, and packed my bags right then and there. But I couldn’t leave him hanging. I had to know he was okay before I accepted a job in one of the most secure buildings in the world.

“I can’t—Not right now.”

“I know. But the job is yours when you want it.”

“Thanks, Tony. And tell Clara I said hi.”

“Will do. Have a good day and try not to piss off any murderous Hydra agents.”

“Same goes for you.” He snickered and ended the call without saying goodbye. I pressed my finger to the scanner pad, and the engine hummed to life, purring like a kitten.

“Whoa,” I said out loud. The screen on the dash lit up with the engine. A little greeting scrolled across, telling me to have a good morning. Signed by Jarvis. “Uh—Jarvis?” I asked, feeling like a moron for talking to a car.

“Yes, Miss Hayes?” the disembodied voice responded. I almost jumped even though I’d addressed him first.

“So I can just—talk to you whenever I want?”

“I don’t know if I’d make a good conversationalist, but I’m always here if you need me.”

“Cheeky robot.”

“I’m not a robot, Miss Hayes.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“It’s quite alright. Would you like me to find you a radio station? You are now connected to satellite radio.”

“That sounds—like fun. Go right ahead and put something on.”

“Right away, Miss Hayes.”

It was going to take forever to get used to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I haven't been on here long, so I don't know the proper thanking etiquette. But thank you for the kudos and things. I really appreciate it.


	21. Chapter 21

I hated waiting tables. I said it all the time, but I felt it every time I was in that damn diner. When I took up work at a pancake house, I threw a party when I finally saved up enough money to quit. And okay, it wasn’t a real party. I mostly just conned an adult into buying me wine coolers and snuck out to get drunk in a vacant cornfield. It was a one-woman kind of party.

My parents, of course, thought quitting was a significant adolescent failure and reminded me of my inability to commit to anything when I decided to join the army. They told me the military was going to be much harder than waiting tables, but their lack of faith in me fueled me enough to get through basic training. And I ended up proving them right anyway.

By the time the lunch shift started, I already had a raging headache, and my feet and back hurt. I wanted to go home and take a nap. The only good thing about the job was that it kept me busy enough to keep my mind off of Bucky and the fact that Hydra had blown up my car.

When the lunch rush was over, I took a break and sat down in the storage room on a couple of old crates. I leaned on my knees and rubbed the ache from my forehead. I was glad I wasn’t entirely unemployed anymore. But the thought of working for Stark in a nice comfortable office seemed more and more appealing with every shift.

The door swung open and Marion poked her head in.

“Hey, I know you’re on break,” she said. “But some creepy guy just came in and asked for you. I seated him at the booth where you always sit with the hot one.” I nodded and stood up.

“Yeah, alright. Okay,” I replied.

She held the door open for me, and I followed her back out into the front. I stopped short when I realized who was sitting in the back booth. He had his back to the wall but appeared much less confident than Sam. He was slouched and trying to look inconspicuous beneath a hood and a baseball cap. Not to mention, he was wearing gloves.

“Is everything okay?” Marion asked. “Do you want me to call Margo to kick him out?”

“No, he’s okay. He’s a friend of mine. Get him a burger or something. And a Coke.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll put in the order for you.”

“Thank you.”

I headed around the bar, and his shaded eyes found mine. He had his hand blocking his face, just in case anyone recognized him. But he was drawing more attention to himself just by looking so suspicious. I sat down across from him.

“The hood is very conspicuous, Bucky. You might want to take it off,” I whispered. He slid the hood back off.

“I didn’t want you to know I haven’t brushed my hair,” he replied. I smiled and reached across the table to hold his hands.

“I’ve missed you.” He looked surprised, probably because of the words and the gesture.

“It hasn’t been that long.”

“Long enough. I was starting to think I’d never see you again.”

“I had to come back. They tried to kill you.” I squeezed his hands.

“They didn’t try to kill me. They were sending me a warning. You probably shouldn’t have come here. Someone might recognize you. I don’t know if I’m being followed.”

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

“You’re not in any trouble, are you?”

“No, I’m….” He stopped.

“You’re hungry,” I finished for him. He kept his eyes on mine, and that was all I needed to answer the question. “It’s okay. I’m having someone bring you something. And I’m sorry for interrupting you and Steve the other night. You needed to talk to him alone. I shouldn’t have intervened.”

“The conversation was already over. And you were pacing.” I looked him over again. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his beard was growing back in. It looked like he hadn’t showered in days.

“You should come back.”

“I don’t want to be a problem for you and him.”

I thought about Steve’s suspicions. If Bucky had mistakenly developed an attachment to me because I showed him kindness. I wondered if he thought he was going to cause relationship problems. I wanted him to know it wasn’t real, just to put his mind at ease. But I didn’t want him to think of it as an invitation either. I was already getting in the way, just by making him trust me.

“It hurts us more when we don’t know where you are. There’s nothing you need to be afraid of.” I gave his hand another squeeze. He nodded slowly.

“I came back because I don’t want them to hurt you,” he told me.

“When was the last time you ate something? And I mean a real meal.”

“When I was with you. I eat when I need to.”

“I’m having them make you a burger. I thought you might like it. I don’t really know what kind of food you like.”

“I like pizza.” I laughed.

“Everyone likes pizza. So are you going to come back?”

“I shouldn’t be here. Someone might see me.”

“Please, Bucky? We can finish your meal, and I’ll clock out early. You won’t be bothering us. Trust me. We both want you there.” He shifted his glances from my eyes to the table. I took a deep breath and decided to give him, at least a little, reassurance. Even if I couldn’t tell him the truth. “And—if you’re worried about Steve and me—don’t be. We’re not—it’s not….” He lifted his head again, not understanding what I was getting at. “It’s not serious. If that’s—something you’re worried about.”

“I….”

“A burger and fries for the bearded gentleman,” Marion said, approaching the booth with her well-practiced smile. I released Bucky’s hands so Marion could set the plate down in front of him. I wanted to ask why she was so quick to get the plate out to him. It usually took at least 10 minutes, on a good day. She was always in a rush to get Sam’s food to him too, but I figured that had to do with her crush. “Enjoy your meal,” she said, giving me a wink. She walked off to help a customer who’d been there longer than Bucky.

He gave the plate a once over before watching Marion.

“She’s a spy. She works for someone else. She’s here to watch you,” he whispered. I blinked a few times before it registered.

“She what? How can you tell?” I asked.

“She only works on your shifts. Even when they’re short staffed. She’s the only server on the floor who keeps her phone in her apron. She checks it regularly. She takes more orders from the phone than she does your manager. Plus, she spends more time watching you than doing her job.” It was the most I'd heard him speak all at once. I turned to watch Marion.

I usually never gave her much thought. But Bucky was right. There was a shape of a phone in her apron pocket even though we weren’t supposed to have them. She was wearing those chunky wedge sneakers that I always thought were murder on her feet. She was always there when I came in. Even when I was there to cover someone else’s shift or when I came in early. I always just assumed Marion worked a lot. I turned back to Bucky. He hadn’t touched his food or his drink.

“Steve said it’s likely the government is keeping tabs on me. I guess I wasn’t paying much attention,” I admitted. “I don’t think she’d poison you, though. I can try it first if you want.” He cut his eyes to me, tense and uncomfortable. I reached over to take a fry from his plate. He said nothing as I chewed on it.

“See? No poison,” I remarked.

“Some toxins take longer than others.”

“Eat.” I lifted another fry, but he didn’t take it. So I sighed. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”

“They’re all over the place.”

“Do you want me to make you something at home? I know this great sandwich place that delivers to my house.” He didn’t answer, again. So I climbed out of the booth. “I’ll be right back. Just let me clock out.”

I headed to the back so I could take off my apron and let the manager know I was leaving. I had a strict schedule to follow, but my boss never seemed to care. Sometimes I suspected Margo was afraid of me, but then I remembered that Hill set up the job, so it was more likely she was just scared of Hill. Marion hurried into the back to follow after. I untied the apron from around my waist and turned to face her.

“Hydra or Talbot?” I asked. Marion looked startled.

“What?”

“Answer the question. Do you work for Hydra or Talbot? Did you poison my friend?”

“Why would I poison your friend?” I rolled my eyes and tossed the apron into my bag.

“You’re not a waitress. I should have figured it out sooner. You’re good at this job, but it isn’t your natural element. And you still haven’t learned to dress for it. So you either work for the assholes who blew up my car yesterday, or you work for Talbot. So I want to know if you poisoned my friend because I’m the only person who ate off that plate and I want to know if I should drive to the hospital after I leave.” She crossed her arms defiantly.

“Talbot just wants to make sure you’re not leaking messages to Hydra,” she said. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. I wouldn’t poison you.”

“Why would Talbot put a tail on me? I thought he trusted me.”

“He does. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have just sent me. I know you’ve been spending a lot of time with Sam Wilson, and Captain Rogers sleeps at your house a lot. I didn’t know about Barnes, but it might be a good idea for you to start talking.” I rubbed my forehead and looked away at the boxes of fresh fruit stacked against the wall. This could be bad.

“He’s not working with Hydra anymore,” I admitted.

“Are you sure about that? He’s dangerous, Jo.” I nodded.

“He isn’t. That’s why we’re trying to work with him. Tell Talbot to either stay out of it or do me a favor and don’t tell him at all. Trust me on this. I can help a lot of people. He isn’t dangerous. Hydra had him on a leash, but he’s free now, and he wants to fix what they did to him. I can’t help him if Talbot butts in.” She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest.

“I won’t tell him if that’s what you think is best. You’re one of his favorites. I was just a precaution. But if he hurts anyone, I’m serving your ass to Talbot on a gold platter.”

“Thank you, Morgan,” I said as I yanked my bag on my shoulder and moved to pass her.

“It’s Marion, Jesus Christ,” she whispered.


	22. Chapter 22

Bucky was unusually large in Tony’s car. He was tall, but not extremely tall. But he had broad shoulders and big arms and took up a lot more space than I anticipated. In fact, I tried to picture Steve in the car, and it got a real laugh out of me. I hadn’t considered Bucky though.

“Okay, so here’s the deal,” I told him as I drove. “When we get home, you should probably take a shower, and I’ll walk you through washing your own clothes because I hate doing laundry. If you want to shave, then you should do that too. I don’t know if beards are your thing or not, but I think you attract less attention without it.

“And I’m not trying to bark orders at you or anything. But I think it’ll help. Then we can make dinner. I really can’t afford to keep ordering out, and I’m not a very good cook, but I think I have some frozen meatballs and maybe some canned tomato sauce. It’s probably not going to taste very good, but we’ll have fun. Then we can call Steve.”

“I don’t really want him to know,” he said. He was holding his arms around his middle and staring at the passing city. The windows were tinted enough to make him relax, but he still looked uncomfortably exposed.

“Can I ask why?”

“He makes me uncomfortable. I feel better with you.” I nodded slowly.

“Alright. We’ll hold off on calling Steve. But could you please stay the night this time? At least this once? You can leave in the morning after breakfast if you decide you don’t want to stick around. But I don’t know where you sleep at night. I’m guessing it’s on the streets. And I don’t like that. I have an extra bedroom, and it has a futon. It’s probably not very comfortable, but I’m guessing it’s better than the ground.”

“I’ve never heard you talk so much.” I laughed.

“I’m just glad you came back and that you’re okay. I was really worried. I guess I’m just relieved. You can tell me to stop if I’m annoying you.”

“No. It’s fine. I like the way your voice sounds.”

I took a deep breath. It wasn’t that I didn’t find Bucky attractive. Especially with his hair in a ponytail and his beard shaved. He had a nice face and pretty eyes and a nice body.

The problem wasn’t that. It was just that there were too many problems to count. I couldn’t narrow it down to only one. I was supposed to be in a relationship with Steve, for starts. Bucky probably hadn’t been around a lot of women since the 1940’s, let alone one being kind to him. And the biggest problem was that Bucky had far too many of his own issues to worry about and clearly wasn’t ready to deal with something as potentially harmful as romance. On the flipside, it was nice that he felt something at all and was able to recognize it.

Also, I wasn’t even sure I was ready for something like that. I couldn’t even fake date correctly. The last guy I dated turned out to be Hydra. And how do you even date a man on the run?  
I wasn’t even in a good place emotionally for something boring and stable. Considering my last relationship ended with my knife at his throat.

“Um—right. Well, that’s the plan for tonight, alright? Does that sound okay?” I asked. I didn’t want him to think I was trying to take control. But I was getting tired of the flighty thing. He needed a place to eat and sleep, and if he was going to try and make it on his own, he’d have to learn how to do things like use a washing machine and boil pasta.

“That sounds fine,” he decided.

When we reached the house, I parked in the driveway. It felt even more bizarre that I was going to let him into the house through the front door like a normal person. We climbed out, and he flipped the hood back over his head as I dug through my bag for my keys.

He immediately tensed once the door was open. He didn’t leave to go scan the place, like Steve did, but it was clear he was on edge. I led him up the stairs.

“What did you do with Steve’s clothes that you borrowed?”

“I put them on the dryer,” he said.

“Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll go find something for you to wear then. Here’s a towel and stuff. You already know where everything is.”

I piled up his arms and turned the bathroom light on for him. He passed me and shut the door, so I went to the kitchen to find something easy to make for dinner. I ended up going with a boxed meal I located in the back of the cupboard because it was all I had besides frozen meals. He didn’t strike me as the type to be satiated by a single frozen dinner. And I wasn't in the mood for making spaghetti.

He came back down the stairs while I was waiting for the food to simmer. I was sitting at the kitchen table looking over the electric bill that I couldn’t afford. When I looked up, he was already standing in the archway.

“Jesus,” I said with a jolt. “You guys really need to stop sneaking up on me like that.”

“Sorry.”

“And you’re not—wearing a shirt.” I turned my eyes back to the bill and tried to glue them there.

“You didn’t bring me one.”

I wasn’t sure if that was a conscious choice or an accident.

“Sorry,” I said, standing and keeping my eyes on the floor. “I’ll go get you one.”

“Does it bother you?” he asked when I reached him. I looked up at his cleaner, though still bearded, face.

“No, why would it bother me? It’s not like I’ve never seen a man’s chest before, Bucky.” He cleared his throat.

“I meant the arm.”

“Oh. Oh!”

I hadn’t even thought about it. His skin was fused to the metal. Leaving ribbons of scars weaving around it. I could barely imagine the kind of surgery it would have required. The recovery would have been awful. I wondered if they’d given him anything to help with the pain. Despite all the terrible things they’d done, the arm was well made.

I put her hand on his shoulder. It was smooth and cold and strange in the way the plates shifted when he moved. But it still seemed oddly natural. I ran my hand over to where the metal met with his skin, and I knew for sure he could feel me.

“No, it doesn’t bother me,” I said, looking back up. His eyes were bluer than I expected. He smelled nice now. “Does it still hurt?”

“It never stopped,” he said. “But I don’t notice it anymore.”

That sounded terrible. I’d only been hit in the shoulder, and the pain still bothered me.

I ran my fingers over the scars that looked so similar to mine, and then a thought blindsided me. And I hated myself the moment it found its way into my mind. There were numerous reasons for why it was wrong. But the thought came anyway. For just a moment, before I had the chance to push the idea away into the dark corners of my mind, I thought it might not be such a bad thing. None of the things I was afraid of would really matter as much.

But I didn’t even know him. Not yet. And that kind of attachment would take time. Which neither of us could afford. So the thought was absurd even for a slip-up. He was attractive, yes, but we hardly ever spoke. And we hadn’t known each other long enough to laugh or joke or build something. He thought I was in love with Steve. And Bucky didn’t even know himself, let alone have time to know someone else. Especially not someone who barely knew herself.

But there was an attraction between us. And I didn't think it was one-sided. I could feel it buzzing between us like electricity. It wasn’t new. I just hadn’t acknowledged it before.

So I pushed the thoughts away before they could take hold in my mind. I didn’t want to make an attachment where there couldn’t be one. It was a terrible idea, and it could never happen. Maybe it was just because I was so lonely, and it was the first time someone in a long time seemed to show an interest in me. Even if it wasn’t for the right reasons. I pulled my hand away and turned into the hallway.

“I’ll be right back,” I muttered.

“Okay,” he replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 22: Jo gets nervous and chatty in the presence of hot guys with robotic limbs.
> 
> (Me too, girl. Me too.)


	23. Chapter 23

After dinner, I managed to convince Bucky to stay the night. Though I couldn’t guarantee that he’d still be there in the morning. Let alone by the time Steve got back. Either way, getting him to agree felt like a success. So I showed him to the extra room where I kept my laptop and all the other stuff I didn’t use. I gave him a pair of Steve’s sweatpants and pulled out the futon to make him a bed while he changed. When he was done, everything was ready to go.

“I hope it’s comfortable,” I said, fluffing a pillow. I didn’t know why I was so worried about his comfort. Any vaguely flat surface was probably more comfortable than the ground. At least he’d be warm.

“It’s fine,” he replied.

I stood up and looked over his clean-shaven face. He had his hair back again. It made him look more average. As average as someone who plays in a rock band looks. But it was still better than a full beard and grimy skin.

“So um….” I didn’t know what to say. I was weirdly nervous around him now. The words just fell out of my mouth, and I had nothing to follow up with. I ended up just staring at the cluttered desk on the other side of the room.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked to break the silence.

His speech was starting to sound more natural. In the beginning, he kept his answers flat, emotionless, and usually to one or two words. Straight to the point. Yes or no. He said only what needed to be said. Now he seemed more comfortable asking me things. His tone was more natural and every once in a while I caught hints of amusement. Even though I hadn’t succeeded in making him laugh yet. Not that I wasn’t trying. But my nervousness probably made me look awkward and weird.

“You can ask me whatever you want,” I told him.

“You said something before—about him—that made me think.”

“Think what?”

“You said he doesn’t love you like he loves me, and that it wasn’t serious.” I couldn’t remember saying those things, but my memory wasn’t that great to begin with. I hesitated to answer.

“It’s not—It’s just—I don’t think it’s special.”

“What do you mean?”

“Steve’s been through a lot. And so have I. And we care about each other. But I think it’s more—convenience and loneliness. He’s my friend. But I don’t think it’ll ever move on from that point.”

I nervously tossed the pillow onto the bed, then hugged my arms to myself. My heart was beating fast, but I was telling myself to pull back. I didn’t understand why it felt so painful.

“Bucky,” I said slowly. “There’s something I should tell you.”

“What is it?”

I sat down on the futon and pulled my sweater close. I didn’t want him to get angry, but I didn’t want him to hate me for lying either. I wanted to gain his trust, and the best way to do that was to tell him the truth. I just had to put it as gently as I could. He hadn’t snapped since that night, but I didn’t know what might set him off again.

“I’m not—who you think I am,” I admitted. I looked up cautiously, but he was staring blankly back. “I’m not really Steve’s girlfriend. I never have been. I used to work for SHIELD. We set this up to give Steve a reason to come to a safe place. They chose my house. I was just supposed to be an explanation for why he came by so often.”

“I know,” he said softly.

“How?”

“You’re a soldier. I can tell.” I rubbed my eyes and nodded.

“I used to be. And then I got shot. And they sent me home.” He sat down beside me, making the futon creak under his weight.

“He’s in love with a woman in New York.” He was staring into the hallway again, blank, but apparently thinking. The blank expressions weren't a reflection of what was inside. Just a mask to hide his thoughts. Something he'd probably learned to do to protect himself.

“How did you know that?”

“I see more than you think I do.”

“How long have you known this was a setup?”

“I always knew. I just wasn’t sure how you actually felt about him. He does care about you. But not the same way he does for her.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He turned his blue eyes to me.

“Because I figured you would tell me when you were ready,” he said.

“Then why did you come to me if you knew I was lying?”

“Because I could see the same darkness in you that’s in me. Mine just grew into a monster, and yours didn’t.” I shook my head and looked down at my twisted fingers.

“You really need to stop calling yourself that.”

“I trust you, Jo. I didn’t at first. But I do now,” he said. It was the first time I’d ever heard him say my name. “And I know you trust me too. That’s all I wanted. He—Steve—he doesn’t trust me. He wants to, but he still thinks I’m going to—show my monster. You could have called for help when I attacked you. You could have had them lock me up. But you want to help me. Not because you have to, but because you want to. You’re helping me feel—human again.”

“You’ve always been human. I just want you to be whoever you want. And whatever you think you feel for me, it’s not real. No matter how much we might want it to be.” His eyebrows creased, and I winced from embarrassment. What if I was wrong? What if he really was just naturally flirty and didn’t even realize he was doing it?

“How do you know what’s real and what isn’t?” he asked. I sighed. I’d asked herself that same question a thousand times and under different circumstances.

“Because I think I’m the first person—since you got free—and it’s been a very long time. And I don’t want you to be confused or get hurt. I want you to focus on getting better and regaining an identity and a life. I don’t want you to have to worry about me. Especially not—in that way.” He nodded slowly and gazed off at the hallway again.

“I don’t think you really get to decide who I worry about.” I flopped forward and buried my face in my hands.

“I know. I’m sorry. I don’t get to make decisions for you either. I can’t change anything. I just want you to know that—whatever it is—it’s not the right time.” I lifted my head again. He chewed on his lip, nodding gently. It was the most absently natural thing I’d ever seen him do.

“I know,” he said. But his voice had gone back to being flat and emotionless.


	24. Chapter 24

The house was quiet, and I couldn’t sleep. I hoped that if Bucky left I’d at least hear the door open, but there were no sounds in the hall. It unnerved me to be sitting there in the silence, listening to that ringing in my ears.

I was still awake when the front door opened downstairs. I bolted upright just in case Bucky panicked too. He must have heard it because I doubted he was a heavy sleeper. If he bothered to sleep at all. Steve was moving around downstairs in the house, doing his usual check. Then his footsteps were on the stairs. I listened for any sound of movement from the room across the hall but heard nothing.

When the bedroom door opened, Steve stepped into the room.

“Hey,” he said, noticing that I was still awake. He peeled off his jacket and hung it on the back of the chair under the window. “I decided to sleep here for a few hours if that’s okay. I have to head out early.”

“It’s fine. We need to talk, though.” He paused and looked back at me. The question was already on his face. I nodded to confirm it. He pulled his shoes off and neatly slid them under the armchair. Then he sat down on the bed by my feet.

“He came back,” he stated.

“He’s in the other room. As far as I know. I don’t think he’s managed to sneak out yet. It’s hard to say with him, though. He’s deadly silent when he wants to be.”

“How did you convince him to stay?”

“He showed up at the diner. He was hungry and worried about what happened to my car. Talbot has an agent on me. He figured her out before I did. She’s another waitress at the diner. Morgan. No, wait. She said her name was Marion. Anyway, he wasn’t comfortable there, so I brought him here. I let him use your things again if that’s okay.”

“It’s fine.”

“I told him to at least stay one night. And we talked—about the thing—you said.” His eyebrows rose in question, and I nodded again. “And I sort of—told him the truth.”

“What do you mean?”

“I told him I worked for SHIELD, and that this was a setup.”

“Why?”

“Because I want him to trust me, Steve. I think he’s making progress, and if the only reason he thinks he can’t come here is because of some fake relationship, I wanted him to know that wouldn’t be an issue. And apparently, he already knew because he mentioned your girl in New York. He just wasn’t sure what my feelings were.” He sighed and turned away from me.

“I didn’t want to get her involved in this.”

“Why didn’t you say anything about her?”

“It’s complicated.”

“But you love her.”

“I don’t know. I can’t say that she loves me back. Like I said, it’s complicated.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about her being in danger. He just mentioned that he knew about her.” He nodded.

“She can take care of herself.”

“So yeah. He already knew. He said he could tell I was a soldier. He knows more than we gave him credit for.”

“He was always sharp. Intuitive. They probably exploited that.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you. I wanted to, but he asked me not to.”

“So he definitely has a thing for you then?” he asked with a smile. I chewed my lip.

“I think he might. But I told him it wasn’t the right time, and he agreed.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.” I wasn’t sure if I really felt that way. Believed it, yes. But agreeing on an emotional level? No.

“I guess that means I don’t have to stay over anymore.”

“I’d still like you to stay close. He needs you around. He came to me only because I was a link to you.”

“I will. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.” He got up and reached for a pillow. “Mind if I take this to the couch?”

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch. It’s not like one more night is going to make a difference. Besides, I’ve gotten kind of used to having you around.” He gave a short laugh, and the tension seemed to drain from his shoulders. The lie had been putting stress on him too. He might not be getting much sleep, but at least he could be himself again.

“The couch is fine,” he said. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.” Then he disappeared into the hall.


	25. Chapter 25

The next morning, I woke to the sound of my phone ringing on the nightstand. I jumped out of bed, scrambling for the phone. It was still dark out, and I didn’t recognize the number. I hated taking unknown calls, but I was in this situation due to an unknown number. I pressed accept and brought the phone to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Kitchen, now,” the voice snapped.

“What? My kitchen?”

“Now.” Then he hung up.

My heart was racing, and I flung the covers off and hurried to turn on the light. If someone was in my kitchen, I didn’t want to meet them wearing pajamas. So I pulled on some jeans and tucked the sparkly pink knife into my back pocket. I could hear voices downstairs when I stepped into the hall. It could have been Hydra, but Steve’s voice was clear. And he sounded calm. I crossed the hall and tapped on the guestroom door.

“Bucky? Are you awake?”

There was no answer. I pushed the door open and peeked inside. The room was empty, and the bed was made. But the room still smelled like his soap and the pillow was rumpled from sleep. He at least tried to stay the night.

“Great,” I muttered. Then I hurried down the stairs to see who was demanding to meet me in the kitchen.

The entire group of them was waiting for me under the dim lights. Sam, Steve, and Romanoff were standing with their arms crossed. And Director Fury was seated comfortably at the kitchen table. I stopped short when I saw him.

“D-Director Fury? I thought you were dead.”

“Almost,” he said, tenderly climbing to his feet. “What the hell did you do?” he snapped. I looked at the other faces. Sam and Steve both appeared apologetic. Romanoff looked like she was studying me.

“What do you mean what did I do?” He roughly set his hand on the table, and it looked like it only caused him more pain.

“You blew your own cover.”

“The job was to get Bucky to make contact with Steve, which he did. My job was to help them, which is what I’m doing.”

“Your mission was to be a prop. You were supposed to stand in the background while Rogers handled the situation.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Last I checked, I wasn’t taking orders from you anymore. Or anyone else for that matter. I’m not getting paid for this job. Therefore, you don’t get to choose how I do it. Bucky came to me, and I did exactly what I was told to do. I played the role just like asked. It wasn’t my fault that he came to me first, but I still did what I had to do and got him to talk to Steve. I made sure he was safe.”

“I’m not worried about his safety. I’m concerned about the safety of everyone else.” Steve flinched from the corner of my eye.

“He’s not a monster, Fury. He’s just a man, and he’s responsible for as many deaths as you are.”

“Excuse me?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. That was when I finally took in the way he looked. He was beaten and bruised and dressed like a civilian. I probably wouldn’t have given him a passing glance on the street.

“Bucky didn’t know what he was doing. And he’s trying to fix it. You still seem to be making excuses for why you pointed guns at half the world.”

“My job was to protect this world.”

“And an excellent job you did with that, right? Bucky didn’t know what he was doing. And his job didn’t almost take the lives of seven billion people. Including my sister.”

“I want you off the mission. I want you to cease contact with Barnes immediately.” I laughed. Exhausted and irritated. All I could do was laugh.

“You honestly think that’s the solution? He’s better than all of you at finding someone who doesn’t want to be found. He’ll find me no matter where you send me. And I think pissing him off might not be a good idea. I blew my cover to gain his trust. But he already knew anyway. Your plan failed. Mine didn’t. I’ve had more contact with him than anyone these past few weeks, and I know what I’m doing. I don’t work for you.”

“No, you don’t. You work at a diner, and I still have the ability to put a perimeter around your house.”

“She’s the only one who can get through to him,” Steve said in my defense. “If you put a barrier between her and Bucky right now, you risk tearing down all the work she’s done.” Fury cut his eyes to Steve.

“With all due respect, Captain, Agent Hayes wasn’t emotionally stable enough for this kind of mission in the first place. I thought that’d be something you’d consider before asking her. Her therapist advised me to stick her behind a desk where I could keep an eye on her. Severe Post-Traumatic Stress, prone to violent outbursts, and suffers from regular memory lapses.”

I gritted my teeth and shifted from one foot to the other. I knew they’d probably read my files thoroughly before even considering me, but I didn’t like having my dirty laundry just hanging out for everyone else to see.

“With all due respect,” Steve repeated. “That’s the reason Bucky went to her in the first place. She understands what he’s going through. If you take that link away from him you’re potentially putting a lot of lives on the line.”

“It’s okay, Steve,” I said, hands on my hips. “Fury didn’t want me to succeed. I was just bait. Fury isn’t angry because I blew my cover. He wanted to prove that Bucky was dangerous to innocent people. He’s mad Bucky proved him wrong. But Bucky isn’t dangerous unless you make him dangerous. I’m going to keep working with him regardless of what orders I’m given. I know I’m not emotionally stable, but Steve’s right. That’s exactly why Bucky and I work well together.”

Fury leaned his knuckles against the table and glared at me with one dark eye. His anger was thick in the room, and I hated that he was trying so hard to point the finger of blame at Bucky. Bucky did a lot of terrible things. Including filling him with bullets, but he wasn’t responsible. They were trying to make him a martyr.

“If he kills anyone,” he said slowly. “A single person. A damn dog. It’s on you.” I nodded quickly.

“I won’t let that happen.”

“You better hope you’re right.”

“I will be. Now, if you don’t mind, please get the hell out of my kitchen. And ring the fucking doorbell next time." I turned and marched back down the hall.


	26. Chapter 26

After everyone left, I tracked down the storage place where Romanoff hid all my stuff. If Bucky knew who I was, then there was no point wasting money by keeping my things there. It was already afternoon by the time I got home. And even though I’d started the morning with a lecture by a man I thought was dead, I was feeling a lot lighter on my feet than I had in a while.

The only thing I was worried about was the fact that Bucky hadn’t actually stayed the night. I knew he slept for a while. Or laid there to humor me. But he was gone by morning. Steve said he hadn’t heard anyone come down the stairs and he didn’t want to bother either of us when he left in the morning. So we couldn’t pinpoint the time.

Unfortunately, the house was empty when I got home. I shut the door with my foot and lugged a box into the house, dumping it onto the couch.

“Bucky? Hello? Anyone home?” No one responded.

A little while later, I had my clothes back in my closet and was sitting on the bedroom floor going through a box of military stuff. I was sifting through the forgotten memories when the floor creaked. I turned around to find Bucky in the doorway.

“Hey,” I said with a smile. “When did you leave?”

“Early. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You can sit down.” He took the chair by the window so he could watch, but I ended up shoving the box into the closet before he could start asking questions. Then I turned to face him and crossed my legs. “I was in trouble this morning. For telling you the truth. But I think it worked out alright. So Steve is going to come by later to get his things. He said he’d like to stay for dinner. If you’d like to join us, we want you there.”

“Are you trying to tame me?”

“Was that a joke?” I asked. His expression hinted at amusement again, but the smile never showed. “I promise I’m not trying to tame you. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do. I just want to help. So long as you’re willing to accept it.”

“I’ll stay for dinner.”

“Excellent. Will you stay the night again?”

“If you want me to.”

“Okay. Awesome. Do you want to help me make dinner then?” He almost smiled again. As if it crossed his mind, but his body didn’t respond fast enough.

“I’m not sure that I’ll be any help.”

“We’ll figure it out. C’mon, let’s go see what we have.”

I stood up and reached out my hand for him to take. He studied it, but I waited patiently until he lifted his right hand and slid it into mine. Then he stood to follow me downstairs.

Bucky wasn’t lying when he said he wouldn’t be much help in the kitchen. For the short time I’d known him, I’d seen him confused and curious, maybe I'd even caught a glimpse of affection and amusement. But now he looked genuinely anxious. He had no idea how to heat up a jar of spaghetti sauce an electric stove.

“I’m sorry,” he said as I tried to guide him through the process.

“Don’t be.” I handed him a wooden spoon, and he stirred the pot. But he looked at it like the entire thing would burst into flames if he stopped stirring.

“You know a lot about cooking.” I actually snorted with laughter as I turned away.

“Not really. I mean—it’s from a jar. You just heat it up. Besides—I’m the one who forgot to set the timer for these frozen meatballs.” She examined the bag. “Probably not even real meat. To be honest. Anyway. My mom did teach me how to warm up spaghetti sauce at least. And I mean, I know how to work a modern electric stove.”

“I don’t remember my mom.”

“I’m sorry, Bucky.”

“I think I didn’t—I don’t think I had a mother.” I watched him stir the sauce. “I think she died when I was young.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“It’s alright.”

“Is there anything else you can remember?”

“I remember Steve’s mom. She was nice. Like you.”

“That’s sweet,” I said.

“I remember when we joined the war. Steve and I were in a class. Painting. We went together. They didn’t accept him. I remember getting him out of fights. There was a girl. Connie. I remember the Commandos more now. And I remember when Steve found me.”

“Can I ask who Connie is?”

“I think—I think she was my girlfriend. The one who said she’d wait.”

“Sounds like you’re starting to remember more.”

“I don’t remember small details. Events sometimes. Facts. Nothing important.” They sounded awfully important to me.

“You will,” I assured him anyway. “It gets easier in time. The small details are always the hardest. Sometimes you just need a bit of a push. Something to trigger the memory. I’m sure the more time you spend with Steve, the more will come back.” He nodded and turned to the side. He wasn’t looking at me, but I could see his face now that his hair was tied at the back of his neck.

“I think you help me remember,” he said quietly.

“Me? Why me?”

“Because I feel comfortable with you.” I smiled to myself, glad he wasn’t looking.

“I’m happy to hear that. Now you know why I think we should stick together.”

“You don’t find it difficult? Having me around?”

“I think—it’s more difficult not knowing where you are. If you want me to be honest with you.”

“I appreciate honesty.”

I could make out the rumble of Steve’s motorcycle on the street. Bucky’s shoulders tensed, and he stopped stirring. I probably could have told him he didn’t have to keep going, but he seemed to like having a task.

“Promise you’ll stay this time?” I whispered.

“I already did.”

“I think the meatballs are ready. I’m going to bring them to you.” I returned to his side, and he stepped back so I could slide them into the pot. When I finished and set the pan aside, he was already watching me.

“I have an idea,” I said, taking the spoon from his hand. “I think you should spend the weekend with me. I don’t have to work, and you’re free to do whatever you want. But I think it might be good just to try. I’m not trying to tame you or anything. But you might need to practice a few things to take care of yourself. In the regular boring kind of way. Like—domestic stuff. We can get some junk food and watch terrible movies you might have missed. If you want. How does that sound?”

The almost-smile was back. His expression was relaxed, and the smile hinted at the corners of his mouth. If he stayed, I decided I'd make it my goal to get him to smile at least once before the weekend ended.

“That sounds—uneventful,” he replied. But he sounded relieved about it. His lips turned up just a tad more, and my eyes narrowed.

“Are you smiling?”

“I might be.” I laughed and heard the front door open from the living room.

“It’s me,” Steve called out.

“We’re in the kitchen.”

Bucky had gone tense again, so I put my hand on his shoulder to reassure him. He glanced at it, as if startled by the contact, but then his eyes moved to mine. He never asked me to move away. His skin was warm beneath his shirt.

“Smells great,” Steve said, appearing around the corner and smiling nervously. Bucky stepped away, and my hand slid from his shoulder.

“Tastes even better. Bucky helped with the sauce.” Then he cringed.

“He never was any good at cooking.” Bucky looked like he was going to scoff, but turned back to the pan instead and took the spoon from my hand.

“He never was any good at breathing,” he mumbled. He wasn’t smiling anymore, but Steve was.


	27. Chapter 27

Dinner went surprisingly well. Steve and Bucky did most of the talking, and Bucky seemed to be making more of an effort than before. He asked Steve questions, and Steve was eager to answer them. Sometimes Steve told funny stories about the nonsense they got up to as kids, and Bucky would give that almost smile. Though I suspected he didn’t always know what Steve was talking about. I was sure Steve saw it too.

When we were cleaning up after dinner, My phone began to ring. Clara’s name flashed across the screen, and since I was allowed to be more honest now, I excused myself and took the phone into the living room where (I hoped) they couldn’t overhear.

“Hey,” I said, sitting down on the couch.

“Okay, what the hell are you doing now?” Clara asked.

“I just finished up dinner, why?”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about your new volunteer job. Playing babysitter to the Winter Soldier.”

“He’s not—that’s not who he is anymore. And I’m not his babysitter. I’m just helping.”

“Do you have any idea how stupid that is?”

“Excuse me?”

“He’s dangerous, Jo. I know that everything seems fine and dandy right now, but it doesn’t mean it’s going to stay that way.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m allowed to make my own decisions. I asked for this job, Clara. It’s not like it landed in my lap.”

“That’s exactly how it happened. You went to pick up your stuff and got landed with a new job. And this guy latched himself to you, and you’re playing mama cat like when we were kids, and you used to bring home weird injured animals.”

“I don’t think it’s any of your business.”

“No, it is my business because I’m worried sick about you and you’re going to end up losing your house, at the very least. Not to mention the myriad of other things you could lose. It’s my job to make sure you’re okay, and you’re making it very difficult.”

“It’s not your job to make sure I’m okay. I’m doing just fine on my own.”

“I’m your big sister, and it will always be my job to make sure you’re okay. And you always get yourself into situations where your life and mental state are at risk.”

“My mental state is just fine.”

“For now! And so is his! For now! What about when he snaps and pulls a gun on you? What if he comes after you with that stupid arm of his and tries to choke you to death? Or bashes your head in? What if we can’t get to you fast enough, Jo?”

“He’s not going to snap. He’s doing really well, and he genuinely wants to be a good person. I want to help him. And not because I’m playing mama cat, but because I know what it’s like to have to do this alone. And I know nothing will help him better than having someone. He’s making progress because he has a support system.”

“You’ve never had to be alone. I’ve always done whatever I could to be there for you. You were the one who moved to DC instead of staying in Ohio or coming to New York. I offered to let you stay with me. I said I would help you find a job.”

“You’re right. Why didn’t I mooch off my sister and parents instead of getting a job for myself and building my own life? Even if I stayed back in Ohio or I went to live with you, I’d still be alone. None of you really knew what I was going through. You didn’t have to watch people die. You never had to kill anyone.”

“You think I’ve never watched anyone die? You think I can’t be there for you because I don’t have PTSD? I don’t know if you know this, Jo, but a lot of people died here. And I saw it happen.” I sighed and dropped the pillow on my face to block out the light. And also the fact that I wanted to throw my phone at the wall.

“What happened in New York was different. I don’t doubt that it was traumatic. But—war is different, Clara. People died BECAUSE of me. I don’t think you understand what it’s like to take someone’s life. And to get home—and barely remember it.”

“I just don’t know why you’re constantly trying to prove your strength. First with enlisting and then with SHIELD. Now you’re babysitting Soviet assassins.”

“Don’t you dare tell me I’m not strong.”

“I never said you weren’t. Just that you don’t have to prove it.”

“Clara—do you know what the number one cause of death is for former soldiers? It’s suicide. So me being here should be enough. I don’t have to prove anything, and I don’t need your approval or support.” Clara was silent for a full minute. Then she sniffed.

“Jo—I’m not saying that you’re not strong or that you have to prove anything. I know you’re strong. I always admired that about you. I just can’t understand why you keep putting yourself in situations that lead to you getting hurt. I know that you care—way more than normal people do. And I know you think you can help him. But what do you think the outcome is going to be? You think he’s going to be normal one day? That the world is just going to forgive and forget? He’ll get a nine to five and a monogrammed coffee mug? You know he’s too far gone to lead a normal life. You haven’t gone through half of what he has, and you can’t even make it through the night without….”

“Stop,” I said. “Just shut up.”

“I’m just trying to make you understand, Jo. It’s been over five years, and you’re not getting any better. You function because you have to. You’re miserable. I know you are. And I know that he’s not going to be like you. No matter how strong he is. In five years, he’ll be lucky to be close to where you are. If you want my honest opinion, I think it’ll take more than a decade to get to where you are. And that’ll still be progress. You can’t rewire his brain. You can’t expect him not to go unhinged when things go wrong.”

“What do you want me to do? To give up on him? You want me to push him away so I can go back to having no purpose in life? I know he’s been through worse than me. I don’t need a reminder. And I know he’s not going to get a boring job and lead a boring life. But I want to do something with meaning again. I’m not meant for that kind of life either. That’s why I’m miserable. I just want to help people.”

“But you’ve already done so much,” she pleaded.

“No, I haven’t. I didn’t enlist to prove I was strong. I did it because I wanted to do something with my life. Mom said I’d never do anything beyond motherhood. I just wanted to prove her wrong. I wanted to be a doctor. And I messed up.”

“You didn’t mess up.”

“Just let me talk. Yes, I did. I couldn’t pull the trigger, and I nearly got killed. I joined SHIELD for the same reason. Because I thought I was doing something important, and now my career is over, and I don’t even know how I’m going to keep the lights on. So yeah, maybe it’s crazy, and I’m being a stubborn mama cat. But I want to do something good for once. And I want to help him. I’ll do it whether you like it or not.”

“You’re taking care of him,” Clara stated. “You’re helping him more than you help yourself.”

“Helping him is helping me. It’s good for everyone. Even if I can’t be remembered for being the hero that killed an alien invader with a staple remover, at least I can be the person who brought James Barnes back from the dead.”

“You’re too stubborn. Just like Dad.” Clara sighed. “I just don’t want to lose you again.”

“You never lost me,” I argued.

“Yes, I did. You came home, and you were a different person. I just don’t want something to happen to you and have you shut off for good.”

“Well, I’m sorry I’m not the sister you hoped for. But I’m doing this with or without your approval, and I don’t care if it gets me killed. I have to do this. I want to.”

“Just don’t tell Mom what you’re up to. You’ll give her a heart attack.”

“Oh God, no. I’d never tell her.” I took a deep breath and sighed. Clara wasn’t arguing anymore, and her voice had gone softer. She was going to give up, and I was glad. But I still wanted to end the conversation. I didn’t want Bucky to hear. “I have to go help the super-soldiers clean the kitchen. I’ll talk to you later.”

I didn’t wait for Clara to say goodbye. I ended the call and dropped onto the couch. I put her head in my hands and took four deep breaths. Then I heard the floor creak and the tap of metal along the wall. Bucky was letting me know he was there. When I moved the pillow away, he was standing by the stairs, concern on his face.

“Are you okay?” he asked. I smiled and got back on my feet.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just arguing with my sister, but what else is new?” I replied. His eyebrows creased.

“She doesn’t like you spending so much time with me.” I shook my head.

“No, it’s not that. My family doesn’t like anything I do. It’s not just you. They’ve been trying to make me normal and boring my whole life.”

“Normal and boring isn’t really you.” I took another deep breath, studying his face the way he was studying mine.

“You’re probably right. Would you like some help with the dishes?” He looked down at the floor as he thought about it, then turned back to me. He had that almost smile again. It was killing me that I hadn’t gotten him to smile fully yet.

“I think I can handle it,” he said. Then he turned back around to return to the kitchen.

The argument with my sister left me rattled, but I tried not to let it get to me. Steve and Bucky were getting along. He was doing better, despite what Clara said. And they both looked happier than I’d seen them the entire time I knew them. Sure, there was still the possibility of imminent danger hanging over us. Or the threat of the Winter Soldier snapping back into place. But even if it happened, I wanted to try and help him back out.

Once Steve finished helping, he collected all his things. I walked him out to his bike. He had nothing but a backpack to hold all the things he’d left at my house. Everything else, he was leaving for Bucky. He looked kind of silly with a backpack on. Like an overgrown child riding his bike to school.

“I talked to Stark this morning,” he said, stepping off the curb toward the motorcycle. The sun was already down, but the sky was light. The temperature was dropping by the minute. This time of day always made me feel comfortable and safe. It was a good day.

“How fun for you,” I replied. He smiled.

“He decided to actually add me to the list of people to call if anything goes wrong. Rhodes isn’t always close enough. If you press your panic button, I won’t be too far away.” I touched the bracelet on my wrist. I’d forgotten its real purpose. I wore it every day and took it off to shower. But otherwise, it was just a piece of jewelry I’d grown used to.

“Thanks, Steve,” I said. He nodded and mounted the bike.

“Don’t mention it. And uh—thanks. For you know, volunteering to do this. And for everything else you’ve done. But please—if you need anything at all—just tell me.”

“I will. And thanks for sticking up for me against Fury.” He smiled and kicked the bike to life. It was loud and echoed through the whole neighborhood.

“Don’t mention it,” he said over the noise.


	28. Chapter 28

I was glad Bucky was going to stay the night again. We had the whole weekend to spend away from the diner. I had it all planned out in my head. I wanted it to be as boring and normal as possible, even though I’d argued with my sister that boring and normal just wasn’t who I was. It wasn’t because I enjoyed the lifestyle exactly, but because it was sometimes good to focus on ordinary things for a while. Bucky didn’t have enough of that in his life. I also just didn’t know what to do to keep busy without leaving the house. We were both more comfortable there.

I couldn’t sleep again, though. The truth was just that I hated sleeping alone. That was one of the reasons I was so comfortable with Steve. It was why I allowed Oscar to start spending the night so soon. And okay, there were a few one-night-stands as a result of not wanting to spend the night alone.

And it wasn’t that I wanted Bucky to crawl into bed with me or anything. Or even that I wanted Steve for a night of platonic cuddling. I did like it when he was there, but we were both used to being alone.

There were a lot of trees between the window and the neighbor’s porch light. The only time the room lit up at night was when something tripped the sensor. Then I’d see all those twisted shadows swaying across the walls. The light was bright, and I laid there for a long time staring at it. I couldn’t sleep with it on, and the entire tree was shaking as a fat little silhouette scaled the branches. The raccoon thumped onto the roof and scuttled into the nest he made in the attic.

I really should have called someone to get him out. He was probably damaging the house, and it was going to be a pain in the ass when I inevitably had to sell it. But I’d made peace with the little guy. He made nights feel just a little bit less lonely, and he only caused problems when he dug in the trash and left a trail of garbage through the yard. But he didn’t seem to like my trash much anyway. He preferred the neighbors, where a family of five produced enough garbage to keep him fat and round all year long.

Maybe Clara was right. Maybe I was too nice and did have a strong mother cat instinct. I let my attic and house suffer over a raccoon I named and almost considered a pet. And now I was potentially putting my own life at risk by taking in a trained assassin with memory loss and forcing him to cook dinner. Maybe my mother was right too. Maybe it was just in my nature to care for things. Saying I was destined for motherhood was probably her own way of saying that I was destined to care for people. I just wished she’d worded it differently.

I lay there listening to the raccoon get comfortable in his nest until the sound of a muffled moan came from the other room. I sat up and strained to hear through the ringing in my ears. The doors were closed, but I could make out the sound of Bucky’s subdued struggle. He was quiet and only spoke when he needed to. He had to go out of his way to make noise just so he didn’t catch me by surprise. The fact that he was groaning in the guestroom made me think something was very wrong.

I couldn’t just sit there and let him go through it alone. I knew how much it sucked to have to fight through a nightmare and wake up alone. They weren’t as bad when there was someone close by to bring me back. I wanted Bucky to feel that same comfort. So I climbed out of my bed and headed across the hall to the extra room.

I knocked gently on the door, but he didn’t wake up or respond. So I pushed it open and looked inside. He was lying on the futon, shirtless and sweating, and seemed to be at war with the sheets.

“Bucky?” I said, cautiously stepping toward him. “Bucky, wake up. You’re dreaming.” I sat down at his side and pressed my hand against his cheek.

He shot back to life in an instant. His metal hand wrapped around my wrist and yanked it tightly away from me so that I ended up flopped over his body. His teeth were gritted, and his eyes were cold and unforgiving as he sat up to face me. He looked just like the Winter Soldier in my nightmare. He was breathing hard and fast, and I cried out when pain cracked my wrist.

“Bucky!” I yelped. “You’re hurting me! It’s Jo! You were just dreaming! Let me go!” His senses snapped back into place, and he released my wrist. I pushed myself off of him and rubbed the pain from my bones.

“Jo,” he breathed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t mean to. It’s fine.” I had my arm cradled against my chest, and my lips pinched. He reached out to pull my hand out, but much more gently.

“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t—I couldn’t think. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. I should have known better than to touch you while you were having a nightmare. I’m actually surprised you didn’t wake up swinging. I’ve done that before.”

“I don’t know if it was a nightmare or a memory.” He held my hand on his lap and gently rubbed the red marks on my wrist. He kept the other arm back as if he was afraid of scaring me with it. But his other hand was soft, and his fingers worked the ache from my wrist with the skilled precision of someone who was accustomed to aches and pains.

“Sometimes it’s both for me. It’s hard to tell the difference, I know.” He sat still for a moment, and his breathing returned to normal. I tried to keep my eyes on my wrist, and not the fact that the trees in the yard were leaving twisted shadows on his bare skin.

“Will you—tell me—what happened to you?” he whispered. He looked away from my hand to where the scars were finally showing on my shoulder.

“I enlisted at eighteen,” I said. “Hadn’t even graduated high school yet. Guess I thought I had something to prove. My dad always talked about having boys. Got two girls instead. I guess I never really proved anything to him. But I wanted to show him that I was capable. They always kind of held me back, you know? Never let me join sports or teams or anything. So I made a choice they couldn’t get me out of.

“I was a combat medic. I was good at it. Special Forces recruited me. I can’t actually—remember most of it anymore. But my last mission—there was a threat called in to a school. I can’t remember where. They said it was probably nothing, but sent us in any way.”

“What went wrong?”

“It was a setup. They were already waiting for us when we arrived. Started shooting as soon as we were on the ground. We couldn’t fire back because they were using the kids as shields. Didn’t matter anyway. The kids didn’t make it. And when I finally got the chance—I just couldn’t do it. There was a little girl. Took a bullet through the stomach. Hit her intestines. Probably a few other organs. No exit wound. She was going to bleed out before I could get her somewhere safe enough for surgery. Even if I had that luxury, her chances were slim. I did everything I could anyway because I didn’t want her to have to die alone and afraid. There was a grenade blast. I came to about twenty feet away. She didn’t survive the blast. I suppose it was a kinder death, but—she was so small. Couldn’t have been more than seven.”

“When were you shot?”

“Right after. He came around the corner after sending in the grenade to clear the area. I was all that was left in the courtyard. There was a moment where I could have fired first. But I hesitated. He hit me in the shoulder. He probably saved my life by doing that. He could have shot me in the face. I don’t really believe he just had bad aim.”

He lifted his hand and moved his fingers over the spiderweb of scars on my skin. He looked deep in thought, and I was worried my story might trigger something in him. But he seemed more thoughtful than bothered. Then he looked back into my eyes and asked the same question I’d asked myself a million times before.

“Why didn’t you shoot?” I shook my head, and he held his palm to my shoulder. His hand was large enough so that it actually managed to warm the chill out of my body.

“I don’t know. I ask myself that all the time. I’ve come up with a million different reasons. None of them really explain what I was feeling. I guess I was just afraid. If I took his life, I’d never be able to give it back. And when I was younger, my mom had this saying. It’s not our job to decide who lives or dies. I guess I just felt like it wasn’t my place. I don’t know why—because I think if I’d done it—maybe I would have prevented a few more deaths. Maybe my friends would still be here.”

“I think that makes you brave,” he said.

“How?”

“You knew that he would shoot you, and you still decided not to take his life. You had no way of knowing you would survive. Do you know how hard it’s been for me to do that? To fight that urge?”

I shook my head and looked down at my lap. He’d let go of my wrist, so I twisted my fingers together. He still had his hand on my shoulder, and I wanted to lean forward and rest against him. Just to be held for a moment by someone who understood. It didn’t have to be romantic, and if I thought Bucky’s feelings were strictly platonic, I would have actually done it.

“Why do you fight it?” I asked.

“Because I know it’s wrong.” He said before that he wasn’t sure what the difference between right and wrong was. So I looked back at him.

“How?”

“Something Steve said that night. Before you came out.”

“What did he say?”

“He said that—whenever I need to know the difference between right and wrong—that I should think of you.”

“Me?”

“He said to imagine you in that situation. What if they took you and pulled you apart and took everything that made you who you are and stuck someone else in your place? I can tell the difference just by imagining you in the situation. If I think it would be wrong to do to you—or I wouldn’t want you to be hurt—then it’s wrong.” I looked down at the sheets still tangled around his legs.

“Why me?” I asked.

“You’re innocent enough,” he said with that hint of amusement. “And—I like you.”

My wrist wasn’t hurting anymore, so I leaned against it, but I had to put my arm on the other side of his legs to balance myself. We were sitting terribly close, but I was comfortable with him. And the urge to rest my head against his chest was still there. He moved his hand from my shoulder and left a cold chill in its wake.

“Do you regret it?” I asked. “Do you regret what they made you do?”

“I think that’s why I can never be normal—like you want me to be. I don’t think I deserve that kind of peace. I don’t deserve you.” I studied the ridges on his metal arm. They shifted when he moved, and sometimes I would hear the strange digital sounds it made when he moved quickly. Like when he grabbed my wrist.

“But you didn’t mean it.”

“I did mean it. I was following orders. I knew what I was doing even if I didn’t know why.”

“You didn’t have a choice. They forced you.”

“I still did it. And maybe the man who shot you didn’t have a choice either.” I pinched my eyes shut.

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“They stripped you of everything you were and tried to turn you into a weapon. They made it so that you couldn’t disobey. The man who shot me made a choice. If he’s still alive now—he’s going to wake up every morning knowing he made that choice and he’s responsible for the deaths of children. You—you were not a killer, James Barnes. You were a kid from Brooklyn who got caught up in something dark and out of your control. You were a hero in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“You think James Barnes never killed anyone? I was a sniper, Jo. I was good at it.”

“And I was a combat medic who took out a building with a live grenade.” I took a deep breath. “I froze with a gun—but I had other skills. I had other weapons. I don’t think you killed because you wanted to.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because I didn’t want to. And I can see it. The way Steve talks about you. You were a good person, and they stole that from you. I know it’s still in you. I want to help you find it again. Even if you think you don’t deserve it.”

“Why do you have so much faith in me?” he asked. He lifted a strand of my hair and studied it in the low light. The neighbor’s light wasn’t on now, and the room was mostly dark. But there was still enough illumination from the moon and nearby streetlights to make him visible through the moving shadows.

“Because I have to,” I admitted. “I need to believe people can get better.” He nodded slowly, and I refused to look at him. Instead, I focused on the way he twisted my hair between his fingers.

“Not everyone is strong like you,” he murmured.

“You think I’m strong?” I asked. “I sat at a desk for five years. I had to force myself to get out of bed every morning. I didn’t always win. That doesn’t make me strong. You think this is the life I wanted?”

“Then why do you do it?” I couldn’t find an answer. My eyes suddenly began to sting, and I had to take a moment to fight the urge to cry.

“Because I don’t think I’m cut out for anything else,” I whispered. “When I joined the army, I thought I was doing something good. I was too young and stupid to realize how wrong I was. Everything we were doing was wrong. SHIELD was wrong. I contributed to so much—death.”

“I still don’t understand why you think you’re not cut out for anything else.”

I was able to fight the urge to cry, but not the urge to touch him. I moved forward and timidly touched my hands to either side of his face. I traced his cheekbones with my thumbs, hating myself for how badly I wanted to kiss him. Maybe I just wanted him to stop talking and picking apart my thoughts. Maybe it was just the moonlight and the shady trees. I didn’t know, but the conversation was over the moment my lips touched his.

I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t think Bucky had kissed anyone in a long time. I knew about the girl he’d been with before shipping out. But Steve had told me a few stories about the things they’d got up to with the Commandos. But it was still a significant amount of time. He hadn’t aged much since the last time Steve saw him. Which meant he’d spent more time in cryo than out. I highly doubted he did any kissing in those brief times awake.

It was a gentle kiss, and I pulled away before he could react. I was going to pretend it never happened, but then he finally responded. Our eyes only met for a moment before his hand was on my shoulder again. His finger slipped into the hair at the back of my head, and he pulled me to his lips. The feel of solid metal slid down my back as he pulled me closer. My hands found their way to his shoulders, and then his neck and in his hair.

I was terrified that the only reason there was an attraction between us was because of some emotional imprinting. Which would mean it couldn’t possibly be real. And I’d be lying if I said the attraction wasn’t mutual, but I still hadn’t ruled out loneliness. Or my tendency to flirt with danger.

But I hadn’t felt anything for Steve.

I didn’t know what it was, but the kiss had moved very quickly. His metal hand was growing warm on my back, and his fingers squeezed involuntarily. It made a thrill run up my spine, and I grasped my fingers into his hair. Even though he probably hadn’t kissed anyone in a long time, he seemed comfortable with what he was doing. My heart was racing, and adrenaline coursed through my body. But then the strap of my shirt snapped under the pressure of his grip, and I pulled away with a gasp.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, even though I hadn’t moved my hands from his hair and his lips were still so tantalizingly close.

“For what?” he asked, glancing at my lips as if he wanted to kiss me again.

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I wasn’t objecting.”

“I know, but….” I moved my hands down his bare chest, using all of my will to force myself to stop. “I don’t think either of us is ready for this,” I decided. He lifted his hand to touch my face again, but I quickly moved out of his reach and left his room before I lost control.


	29. Chapter 29

I still couldn’t sleep. I was stupid for kissing Bucky. It was the worst thing I could have done at that moment. I told him nothing could come of it and there was nothing between us. And then I’d gone and kissed him just because he looked so nice in the shadows and seemed to know exactly what to say.

I was going to blame the loneliness. I hadn’t had sex in—well a long time. And Bucky was attractive, and I was definitely attracted to him, and he’d just been sitting there half naked in the moonlight. Maybe if he’d just worn a shirt to bed, none of this would have happened.

So I laid there in bed clutching my pillow and wearing a shirt with a broken strap. I was frustrated, angry with myself, and probably wouldn’t have slept if I was dead. Luckily, I didn’t hear any more sounds from Bucky’s room, and I didn’t have to fight very hard to stay away. I sincerely hoped I hadn’t scared him off. Although, I wouldn’t blame him if he wanted to leave.

But he did promise to stay the weekend, and I hoped he followed through. Provided that I could still face him in the morning without embarrassment. It was still my job to make sure he was okay. He depended on me for emotional support at the very least. And I didn’t want all of that to go to waste just because I stuck her tongue in his mouth.

Morning came as a relief. I hadn’t gotten a full night’s sleep, but when I did doze, it had been dreamless. I got out of bed as soon as the sky began to grow lighter beyond the trees. Then I jumped right into the shower to cool my head and remind myself of the ultimate goal. The problem was that I wasn’t even sure what the ultimate goal was anymore. It was just like Clara said, it wouldn’t last forever.

When I was done, I headed back down the hall to see if Bucky was awake. I rehearsed several things in my mind, trying to come up with something that might break the awkwardness. But I wasn’t having much luck.

“Bucky?” I asked, tapping my knuckles on the door.

“Yes?” he responded. I didn’t know if I should be relieved or worried. He hadn’t snuck out after all. Now I definitely had to find something to say.

“Can I come in?”

“Yes.”

I pushed the door open and found him sitting up at the edge of the futon. He still wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his hair was messy and mostly in his face. It looked like he’d managed to actually get some sleep, and I instantly regretted my decision to come in. He was looking a lot more than “nice” sitting in the early morning shadows.

“Um…,” I said as I quickly averted my eyes and absently rubbed my wrist. “I was thinking of making breakfast. I usually just have cereal. If I eat at all. But I also don’t usually have a guest. Steve never stays for breakfast. So I thought we could make waffles. I can show you how to use the waffle maker. It’s not really an essential life skill, but my parents got it for me for Christmas and I—eat them a lot….”

I was rambling again, and he knew that. I was also looking at everything but him. At least until he stood and came to stand right in front of me. He reached for my hand, and I almost flinched. But not because I was afraid. Just that I was still embarrassed about my behavior the night before.

Instead, he examined the marks on my wrist. I didn’t even realize I was rubbing the soreness in my bones. I’d forgotten how I’d ended up in his bed in the first place. All I could think about was that kiss, and nothing else seemed to matter.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

“It’s a little sore,” I admitted. “But it’ll be fine. Why don’t you—take a shower and all that stuff? Steve left you some of his things. I’ll just meet you downstairs when you’re ready.” He gave a quick nod before I slid my hand out of his and hurried back to my bedroom. I wanted to hit myself for acting like an idiot. This definitely wasn’t the kind of stuff he should have had to deal with, and I was bumbling around him like a lovesick puppy dog.

While Bucky was in the shower, I wasted my time blow drying my hair and getting ready for the day. I decided to wait until he was out of the bathroom before leaving my room. Just in case he was naked again and I continued to act like a moron. Luckily, he wasn’t. He was wearing Steve’s clothes, and the colors were all wrong for him. He definitely wasn’t a khaki’s kind of guy. I smiled when I met him in the hallway.

“So, waffles then?” I asked. He nodded.

“Waffles,” he agreed.

I led him back down to the kitchen and set up the waffle maker. I walked him through how to do it even though it wasn’t a necessary life skill. Within a few minutes we’d made a colossal mess, and more waffles than either of us were capable of eating. But he seemed to be having fun, so I didn’t ask him to stop.

And he also seemed to like the food. To be honest, I thought he just liked food in general. More specifically, he liked sweets. He put away more than I thought he could, and made a mental note to spoil him when I went grocery shopping.

Once we finished cleaning up, I convinced him to get back in my car so I could buy him a few things he needed. I was actually just afraid he’d sneak off if I left him in the house alone. But he reluctantly agreed to go with me, on one condition. That he didn’t have to leave the car. So I felt a little weird going in and buying him things while he sat outside in the growing heat, glaring at passersby on the sidewalk.

When I rushed back out to the car, I found him sitting where I’d left him, with his hood up, looking extremely uncomfortable about the fact that Jarvis had shut off the air conditioner on him. Probably to be a brat. The AI had flat out refused to respond to Bucky and only turned on the air conditioner when I asked for it.

“I got you a few things,” I said after shoving the bags into the backseat. He was looking out the windows, watching people walking by.

“Okay,” he replied.

“Alright. Groceries next. I know you don’t want to get out of the car, but trying to find clothes that would fit you was hard enough. I have no idea what kind of food you even like.”

“I don’t have a preference.”

“You seemed to like waffles.” I caught a glimpse of that ghost of a smile in his reflection.

“I like waffles,” he agreed. “And pizza.” I laughed and put the car in gear.

“Everyone likes pizza,” I reminded him. “But I’ll get us a couple of frozen ones.”

I chose the most secluded mini-mart I could think of. It was on a less crowded street with a lot of shade and trees. I didn’t think he was comfortable seated out front of a barber shop, but the smaller store might make the trip quicker. I left Jarvis with strict instructions not to turn off the radio or the air conditioner and headed inside.

When I returned later, I walked across the street with multiple bags hanging from my arms. I had to leave a few of them on the curb to get the trunk open, and when I reached for a jug of milk, someone was already lifting it for me. I hadn’t even heard him get out of the car. He was standing on the sidewalk, still with his hood up to block his face. I smiled. I didn’t blame him for wanting to stay hidden, but it was nice to see him out of the shadows for once.

I reached for the milk, and he handed it over. But before I could get it, it slipped out of his grip and went crashing onto the pavement, splattering milk all over the both of yes. He flexed his gloved fingers like they were bothering him again.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking down at the hand.

“It’s okay.”

I reached for what was left of the jug and stuck it in the trunk. I considered going back for more but decided against it. I wanted to ask about that arm, and most of it was salvageable anyway. So I shut the trunk and nodded for him to follow me back into the car. He was quiet as we got seated.

“What’s going on with your arm?” I asked. He stretched it out and moved his fingers a few more times.

“It hasn’t been working the same,” he explained.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were having problems with it?”

“It wasn’t so bad at first. I don’t know how to maintain it. Sometimes I lose my grip, or the plates lock up. I can’t hold onto things. I didn’t say anything because I haven’t been using it as much.”

“It seemed to be working just fine last night, and that time in the kitchen,” I reminded him. I didn’t want to be rude, but the fingers were capable of leaving sizeable bruises. His eyes flashed at me and narrowed dangerously. But he managed to suppress whatever he was feeling and shook his head.

“If it were working properly I would have snapped your bones,” he said slowly.

“I thought you were just being nice.”

“It wasn’t made to be nice. I don’t know how to be nice.” I nodded and pressed my finger to the keypad to start the engine.

“I know someone who can take a look at it. I can call him if you’d like.”

“Who?”

“Stark.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” I reached around him so I could pull the car back onto the road. The screen in the console would show me an image from the back of the car when she reversed, but I couldn’t get the hang of using it.

“Because I killed his parents.” I slammed the brakes hard enough to make the car jerk violently. I still had my hand over the back of his seat to see out of the back window. Now I turned to focus on him.

“You—killed Howard and Maria Stark?” He looked over at me, and the expression on his face was visibly guilty and sad all at once.

“I'm not just remembering Bucky’s life, Jo.” I pulled back out onto the road.

“Well—that’s something we’re just going to have to keep from Tony then. We’ll figure it out without his help.”

“Probably a good idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I haven't updated in a few days because I was at Salt Lake Comic-Con WHERE I MET CHRIS EVANS AND SEBASTIAN STAN AT THE SAME TIME.
> 
> They were so dreamy and amazing. I have a picture, but I look terrible. I'll link it below anyway. But still. It was so great! And they were so nice! Chris was kind of quiet and nervous, but I was expecting that. Sebastian was very personable, though. And when I walked up to them I said, "Hi," and he replied with, "Hey!" and that excited face that he makes where his eyes get all big and he looks really happy. Gah. He's so cute. He's also a lot taller than I imagined. And his hands are very warm. *gahhhh dies*
> 
> Link here for the pic if you want to see it. I cropped out my friend and our kids, though. http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b189/ihatepb1022/Comic%20Con%202015/IMG_1532_zpsvxieqg1d.jpg
> 
> I also met Anthony Mackie the next day and he's super nice. My son rushed at him excitedly and he seemed to get a kick out of that. He called him "amazing" and then when we went to leave my son put his hand up and said, "High five." So he laughed and said "High five, little man," and returned it. My son has been talking about it nonstop since. In fact, I think he's more thrilled about Falcon calling him "Little man" than anything else that happened at Comic-Con.
> 
> Picture here http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b189/ihatepb1022/Comic%20Con%202015/IMG_1533_zpstzndqzkf.jpg
> 
> I also met James and Oliver Phelps from the Harry Potter movies, and Dean O'Gorman from the Hobbit. They were all really nice and awesome, and it was a great weekend and I'm dead.


	30. Chapter 30

Romanoff had mentioned the possibility of Barnes being linked to the deaths of Tony’s parents, so his revelation wasn’t entirely a surprise. But it was hard to keep it out my mind as I watched him mow the lawn. I couldn’t blame him for what happened. He wasn’t in his right mind when Tony’s parents died, but I also knew this could cause problems for—well everyone. My parents worshiped the Stark family, and my sister loved Tony. And Tony loved her back. I couldn’t imagine what would happen if I told one of the most dangerous men in the world that another one of the most dangerous men in the world killed his parents.

Howard Stark saved my grandparents’ lives. If he hadn’t happened across them in an alley one night, I might never have existed. And then I wouldn’t be there to help Bucky in my own small way. It was all a big complicated mess. All I could do was pray that Tony never found out.

Bucky’s hair was pulled back out of his face again. I thought about taking him to get it cut so that he’d look less like the Winter Soldier and more like an ordinary guy who happened to wear gloves a lot. But I couldn’t bring myself to ask him. I figured I would ask if the situation got worse.

I’d already mowed the front yard, and hated every second of it, so I asked him to do the back. It was smaller, and it was too hot for him to be outside with a hoodie and gloves on. So I gave him the backyard so he’d be free to expose his arm and not have to worry about neighbors calling the police.

He was wearing the tank top and sweatpants I got for him while we were out. I stuck with darker colors since Steve’s lighter tones made him stand out. Plus, I knew he’d go back to sneaking around in the dark. And if it weren’t for the fact that his arm was reflecting sunlight and had a big red star on the side, he would have looked like an average guy, who didn’t seem to know a lot about modern gas-powered lawn mowers.

It didn’t require that much effort to push, but he stopped on occasion to shake out his metal hand. It seemed to be bothering him more than the one in the wrist brace. Of course, he did swear it was completely healed, but the doctor in me wanted him to keep it for a little longer. The right hand was apparently dominant, for general use, even when it was broken. The only time I’d ever really seen the left in action was when he used it as a weapon. Or when it gave out, and he dropped things. I could mend flesh and bone, but I didn’t know the first thing about repairing a cybernetic arm.

He said he meant to hurt me that night in the kitchen. If he had full control of his arm, he very well could have broken my collarbone. And when I’d woken him up from a nightmare, he could have crushed my wrist in his hand.

Maybe I was lucky it wasn’t working. I didn’t want him to hurt me, but I’d attributed his lack of any real damage to his desire to be a better person. I thought he didn’t want to hurt me. But he’d never intended to be gentle with me at all. And those guys he hurt the night he came to me? They’d probably be dead.

I let him continue, even though he was struggling, just to get some time to think. He also seemed determined to get it where he wanted it to go. And he was muttering to himself. I thought that was a healthy sign. It meant his brain was focused on a menial task and not whatever horrors his mind churned up when he was still. The Winter Soldier was a silent killer who wore a restricting muzzle and rarely made a sound unless he was in physical or emotional distress. Bucky Barnes was pushing a lawnmower across my backyard in sweatpants, complaining about the heat and the machine not working. Like a grumpy old man with the body of an attractive thirty-year-old.

That had to mean progress, right?

Tony could probably get the arm working right very efficiently. In fact, he’d probably make it better than before. He could probably give Bucky more control over his own strength or ease some of the constant pain. Maybe he could make it less noticeable. But I couldn’t risk Tony finding out what Hydra had made Bucky do.

Tony acted like nothing in the world bothered him, but I’d seen his face on Thanksgiving when he came to Ohio for dinner. We took him to meet our grandmother, and she’d sat in her bed telling him about how Howard had saved her life. Tony’s face had gone blank. He didn’t like talking about his father, and I didn’t want to be there when he found out the truth about his death.

Eventually, Bucky managed to get the lawn somewhat decent. I wasn’t too meticulous about it anyway since I never usually cared at all. I just wanted to give him a task that could pass the time, and letting him do boringly normal things seemed to help. Plus, it might be easier to blend into society if he could do normal civilian things. Even if that was never a legitimate option.

The rest of the day only included junk food and family-friendly television. Clara and I watched a lot of old reruns growing up because it was the TV our parents watched growing up. So I turned on some reruns of the Andy Griffith Show, and they sat down on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and some candy. Bucky still seemed out of place and anxious.

“This is a great episode,” I told him. We were both sitting stiff and uncomfortable, and I wanted him to relax and let his mind focus on something else for once.

“I’ve never seen it,” he admitted. His spine was straight, and he had his hands on his knees like he was waiting for an order. He didn’t make a reach for popcorn or candy. And I regretted buying him a tank top because his right arm was close enough to brush up against me if he ever worked up the nerve to reach for the snacks.

“Well, it’s good,” I told him, fighting the awkwardness. “I mean—this is the episode where Andy learns a lesson on not acting like a sexist dick. Kind of ahead of its time. Which is funny—because it’s after your time.” He gave me a look as if she was implying he was a sexist dick. But he didn’t argue it. “It’s my sister’s favorite episode.”

“What’s your favorite episode?” I chewed on popcorn and thought it over.

“The one where Opie—the little boy—accidentally kills a bird.”

“Why?”

“It makes me cry.” I fiddled with the bag of M&M’s so he could reach them if he wanted some, but he still didn’t move.

“Is it normal to like things that make you cry?” I lifted the bag, and this time he finally stretched out a hand so I could pour some into his palm.

“Not necessarily. I guess I just like things that make me feel.”

“Is that why you kissed me?” I almost choked on an M&M. He watched me cautiously, waiting to find out whether he should help or not. But I waved him away to buy time enough to answer. I sat there for a moment, watching Andy get his ass handed to him by a girl with a gun.

“Maybe,” I finally said. “I guess that’s why I kissed you.”

“What did you feel?” he asked. Like a goddamn idiot.

“You ask a lot of difficult questions, you know that?” I didn’t really want to answer. I’d been avoiding the conversation all day, and he hadn’t said a word about it until now.

“Curious,” he said. I inwardly groaned. I couldn’t think of a single thing that might explain my actions.

“It made me feel—a lot of things,” I admitted.

“Then how can you say it isn’t real?” I exhaled slowly and focused on the TV screen. I could see him watching from the corner of my eye.

“I can’t say it isn’t real. If you feel it, then it must be real, right? I just don’t think it’s a good idea. Maybe. I don’t know. There’s just a lot more we have to worry about before we can get caught up in something like that.”

“You said sometimes it takes years to feel human again. The world isn’t going to forgive me for what I’ve done. I’m never going to have a normal life. I have nothing to offer. But you said you like things that make you feel—That’s something I can understand.”

“It’s not about—having something to offer. Or even feeling something. It’s about knowing that you can’t always have the things you want.”

“You make me feel human,” he muttered, popping candy into his mouth and turning to the TV.

I took a deep breath and turned to my side to face him. I tucked my feet under my legs. Since we started talking, he got more relaxed in his position. He’d leaned back onto the couch and stretched his arm out behind me. There was a whole couch to sit on, but he was right beside me. Almost close enough to touch, but distant enough to not make it weird. The blinds were closed, but the room was still illuminated by a soft, warm glow. I felt like an asshole for how badly I wanted to kiss him.

“What if that’s just it, Bucky?” I asked. He turned blue eyes on me. Normally, they were cold in color. But the warm glow of the living room made them look vibrant and light. “What if that’s the only reason there’s anything at all? You know how baby ducks imprint on the first thing they see after their born? What if that’s all this is?”

“Why does it have to fit specific criteria to be real?” he retorted.

“Because I know what it’s like to find out that something isn’t—what you thought it was. And the signs were there, but you ignored it because you wanted it so bad. Or because you pushed for something you weren’t ready for. Like when you have a really good dream, and you wake up to find that none of it actually happened. Or maybe it didn’t happen the way you thought it did.”

“All my good dreams are about you.” I leaned on my elbows and rubbed my eyes. I focused my attention on my knees, pressed against the side of his leg, and my unmatched socks.

“It makes me feel—kind of like a bad person,” I admitted.

“Why?”

“Because you’ve just gone through something traumatic. And I know you’re trying really hard, but you’re not there yet. I shouldn’t encourage something that could be damaging. I don’t want you to relapse because of me.”

“You’re the reason I’ve made it this far, you know. I don’t want to disappoint you. I don’t know—what it is. Maybe it’s—imprinting, like you said. I just know that being around you—being comfortable around you—it helps me remember who I am. Or at least who I think I am. I know I’ll never be normal, but you’re the only person who’s made me wish I could be.” I leaned on my hand and looked at him. He still had his arm over the back of the couch; I could feel him just out of reach.

“I don’t want to push you,” he said. “That’s not what I want. But honestly?” His voice was soft and his expression sincere. “I’ve lived long enough to know how valuable the truth is when you might not get another chance to tell it.” I took another deep breath and let it go. This was a lot harder than I thought it would be.

“I understand. And I mean that. I know—I understand—how you’re feeling. And the feeling—is mutual. I just feel awful for feeling that way because it’s a selfish thing for me to want when you have so much going on in your life. It’s not exactly like—we could go on a date.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Jo. I said what I wanted to say. I don’t expect anything in return.”

But he was still looking at me. And he was so close. But he was also right. It wasn’t about things as complicated as relationships or romance. Just telling the truth when you still had the chance. And sometimes the truth meant that you just had to act on what you felt while it was still there in front of you.

So I moved my hand to his cheek. He leaned forward just as I did, and our lips met. His hand moved from the back of the couch to tangle into my hair and pull me close. But the kiss was soft and sweet and over before it could go too far. I forced myself to pull away, ignoring the pounding of my heart, and the desire to taste the sugar on his lips again. I turned and leaned against the back of the couch to face the TV. We didn’t say another word, but he kept his hand on the back of the sofa, and whenever I shifted, I felt his fingers brush my skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fyi, I was watching The Andy Griffith Show when I wrote this chapter.


	31. Chapter 31

It was difficult to sleep again, even though I was exhausted. I laid in my bed for a long time staring at the ceiling, and when I finally did sleep, it didn’t last long. The slightest noise woke me and sometimes when there were no sounds at all, my mind forced me awake anyway. Then it would repeat in a seemingly endless cycle.

I didn’t fall asleep truly until well after midnight. And then I found myself flat on my back on a bed of crumbled bricks, staring up at smoke on an otherwise cloudless blue sky.

The ringing in my ears was loud enough to ache, and it was blocked out by the growing pain in my shoulder. I could feel the warmth of my own blood as it spread out beneath me. I groaned and rolled to my side, in an attempt to get back on my feet. Under the ringing, I could still make out the distant pops and booms of gunfire. I pressed a hand against the blood on my shoulder and moved to sit up as another soldier ran through the courtyard, dropping just a few yards away from me. I could hear the screams of his pain over the ringing and the pounding of my own heart.

It was a struggle to get back on my feet. My legs weren’t strong enough to carry my body, and it wouldn’t be good to stand anyway. I could leave myself open. So I did a half crawl through the debris, cradling my injured arm against my body. I’d never formally met the man, but I knew him. He was Talbot. A Colonel. He’d followed us into the mission even though he could have stayed behind.

I couldn’t let him die there, but my struggle was taking too long. They were going to fire again if I didn’t hurry. I was bleeding profusely, and I could already feel my energy and focus beginning to slip.

I was almost to his side when a grenade rolled into view. Talbot had watched my slow struggle to him, and the both of us froze when we saw it. Then he began to shout. I couldn’t make out the words, but I gathered enough from his gestures to know he was telling me to take cover. To use my chance to escape while I still could.

The grenade was either a dud, or slow to react. I decided to change direction. I could go right toward him, but if it went off, it would kill us both. And if I had enough time before detonation, I might be able to throw it. It was a risk I was willing to take. I could hear him screaming at me as I moved toward the grenade. His voice grew louder and more frantic as I reached for it. The metal was cold and heavy in my hands as I gripped it like a baseball. The men who’d thrown it were on the other side of the court, yelling, and waving their weapons. They were out of ammo.

The throw sent pain rocking through my body, but I gave it my best shot. My dad used to say I had a good throwing arm, and I hated that he never let me join softball. The grenade flew across the courtyard for only a few seconds before it ignited. It burst open in the air like a firecracker and sprayed everyone in the area with chunks of broken metal and a rain of fire.

Aside from a few extra burns, Talbot seemed mostly unharmed. The metal pieces were burning through my clothes and searing my skin. But the pain still wasn’t intense enough to overpower my shoulder. The group of men had been hiding in an alley, shielding themselves behind a building. The grenade took out half the balcony, and the building crumbled around them, pouring an avalanche of concrete and plaster down on top of them.

Talbot stopped screaming at me, but he was still clutching his bleeding leg in agony. There were a few extra burns on his clothes and face now. I moved back in his direction. Within a minute, I was at his side. He yelled at me as I scooted closer. I didn’t have a medical pack anymore, but I pried his hands away from the wound on his thigh. He tried to push me away and shouted a few more unintelligible words. I slapped his hands. I’d probably get in trouble for it later, but I wasn’t going to let him die over stubbornness. I stuck her fingers into the bullet hole in his cargo pants and ripped them apart, exposing the gushing entry wound and making pain drill into my shoulder. I bit my lip and blinked away the tears.

“I have to stop the bleeding,” I informed him, even though I couldn’t really hear my own voice. He was still yelling at me, but I decided to use my damaged eardrum as an excuse not to follow orders. “Your femoral artery might be damaged. I’ll have to check. Then I’ll know what to do.” I looked at his face finally. He was staring at me with disbelief and shock. Maybe just extreme pain. “Bite something,” I warned him.

Then I turned back to the wound and dug my fingers in. He screamed loud enough for me to hear it. His body tensed and he fought the urge to throw me off. It wasn’t the safest or cleanest environment for such an invasive procedure, but I needed to be sure the vital artery wasn’t punctured or severed before deciding what to do. I would worry about infection later when we had access to antibiotics, and he was no longer running the risk of bleeding to death.

That was the worst part of my dream realities. It was exactly what I’d told Bucky the night before. Sometimes they were dreams and sometimes they were memories. But they were worse than memories because they hit unexpectedly. And instead of the dull, fuzzy way people remember a previous event, I was hyper-aware of every sensation.

I could feel the heat of the sun and fire. Sweat dripped from beneath my helmet and down the back of my neck. His blood was warm beneath my hands, and the artery slipped between my fingers. Gunshots ricocheted off of bricks, burns prickled my skin. I could feel blood slither out of my ear and down my neck. Worst of all, I could still make out the muted sound of screaming under the persistent ringing that just wouldn’t stop.

Bucky saved me from the dream. The ringing was so loud s could barely hear at all. But through everything, I managed to make out the sound of my own name, even though I couldn’t place where it was coming from. Talbot was still screaming, gunfire crackled in the distance. And then in an instant, the blinding sun was gone, and I was in a dark bedroom. He was sitting on the bed beside me, hovering with his hands on my arms to stop me from swinging at him.

“Johanna,” he was saying. I blinked a few times and gasped for breath.

“Bucky,” I replied, finally focusing on his face. He released my arms, and I reached up to touch him, just to be sure he was real. I was home. It was only a dream.

“You were dreaming.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I didn’t know. I hadn’t expected a question. I was still hazy from sleep and the shock of an unwanted memory.

“Because I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

He nodded slowly and licked his lips. He was hovering over me, and I’d fought with the blankets and sheets enough that they were on the floor. The room was freezing compared the heat I swore I’d just felt. Bucky’s body was warm where it touched mine. His arms had me pinned like a cage, but it was comforting, rather than restricting. A gentle reassurance that I was there in the present.

“I understand,” he said. “At least you didn’t try to kill me.”

“Only because there isn’t a knife within reach,” I remarked.

Then I shut my eyes and put my hand over my heart. I counted the beats. One, two. Three, four. Bucky stayed where he was as I waited for my heartbeat to slow.

When he showed up in my kitchen that first night, he’d seemed so dark and frightening. He hid beneath a hood and a baseball cap. Now he appeared healthy and at ease. It was his expression that made him look so calm and relaxed. Like he could smile at any second. Like he wasn’t suffering.

Clara had asked me what I expected to come of all this. Bucky could never live a normal life. He’d always be on the run from someone. The world might never forgive him. It didn’t matter who his friends were or what they did to prove his innocence.

I lifted a hand and traced my thumb over his cheekbone. He didn’t seem like that man to me. The one Hydra made. I’d seen glimpses of him, of course, but it seemed more like leftover programming. Maybe it really was possible for him to gain something of himself. Even if it wasn’t the Bucky Barnes who’d fallen from a train.

“Bucky,” I said, moving my hand back to his shoulder to drop it on my chest again. “What do you think is going to happen? With us?” He looked confused again. His eyes creased, but he kept them on me.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“You said that—you don’t think you can live a normal life. But is that even what you want?”

“You won’t like my answer.”

“Just tell me.”

“A normal life isn’t possible for people like us. Even when we want it.”

“Like us?” He hesitated.

“I don’t want—to be part of your life because I’m afraid that I—that I have no future. You do. But not like this,” he explained. “Not the way you’ve been living.” It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that, but I didn’t know what other options I had. I didn’t want to work for Stark. There was nothing else for me to do.

I grasped his metal arm, not knowing if he could even feel me. He didn’t even seem to notice me move, or at least he didn’t focus his attention on it.

“Why do you think that?” I asked, running my fingers over the red star and feeling the plates and ridges.

“Because you’re unhappy.”

“And—what else am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know. I just know that you were meant to help people. Not serve food. Not even help me. Just—more.”

“And you think you have no future?”

“Not the kind you deserve.”

He looked up at the headboard but didn’t move from his spot. He was still hovering, and I was having a hard time keeping my hands to myself when he was so close. But neither of us felt uncomfortable with it.

Sometimes, even though Steve’s presence was comforting, I could tell he didn’t really want to be there. There was always space between us. Miles apart. Even when he let me steal his warmth.

Bucky seemed more comfortable. He’d admitted that he felt something. And I’d acknowledged that the feeling was mutual. He looked back down and hesitated again.

“It’s not that I have no future,” he explained. “It’s just that—They’ve already come after you once. They may not have tried to kill you, but they kept you alive for a reason. It was a message. And it means they’ll come back. There won’t be any place to hide. And that’s because of me.”

“You think they’re going to take you back?”

“I won’t go without a fight.”

“What if fighting isn’t enough?”

“I don’t know,” he murmured. “Then I guess all I can do is try to hold onto all the things I remember. And the new memories I’ve made.”

“Do you think it’ll be enough?” He took a moment to think of an answer as he looked around my dark bedroom.

“This one might be,” he decided. I moved my hand back to his shoulder where his skin met with metal in ribbons of pink scars.

“You know—Steve was right about you,” I remarked. His eyes widened, but his lips hinted at the smile that was still just out of reach.

“What did he say?”

“He said you were kind of smooth with the ladies.” Then he laughed. It was quick, short, and soft. But it was real. The kind of laugh you share with friends or meant for a peaceful moment in bed.

I didn’t think I’d ever smiled so much in my whole life.

Bucky told me he knew the value of being honest while you still had the chance. He was still caught in the partial smile from laughing. So I moved my hand to his cheek and pulled him toward me. His lips came to mine as if he knew all along that I wanted to kiss him.

“You have to cool it with the smooth-talking,” I whispered against his lips.

“Why? It worked, didn’t it?” he replied.

“Was this your plan all along?”

“So what if it was?”

“Shut up.”

I kissed him harder. His mouth was rough against mine like you’d expect from a person who hadn’t practiced much in a while. But he was careful as if afraid he might hurt me. He was warming up quickly though. The night before, he’d been cautious too, but I was so caught up in the moment I hadn’t paid much attention it. He really was trying to be gentle with me, despite what he said. Maybe he’d only denied it in some attempt to scare me away.

It apparently hadn’t worked. And I wanted him to let go a little. I trusted that he wouldn’t hurt me, even though he didn’t understand his own strength some times. I knew he would stop if I asked him to, and I wanted to see him smile again. I wanted him to be happy. And God, I just didn’t want to stop kissing him.

So I pulled him in closer, and his arm gave out. He stumbled onto me, and I realized it was the trouble with his arm.

“Sorry,” I whispered.

“It’s okay,” he said, yanking the wrist brace off the other arm and tossing it onto the floor. The metal hand gripped my shoulder, and he leaned on his elbow. His body was partially stretched over mine. I didn’t want him to leave.

“Will you stay here with me tonight?” I asked, moving a long strand of hair out of his face and tucking it behind his ear.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Do you really think you will?”

He kissed me again, harder this time, and after a moment instinct seemed to kick in. His fingers twisted in my hair and I adjusted my legs to center him between them.

He pulled away as if to speak but caught himself. He hesitated, and I lifted herself onto my elbows. Then he sat back and away from me. I sat up and put my hand on his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. His eyes were much more vibrant and alert than they were when we met.

“How do you know it’s real?” he asked.

“I don’t,” I admitted. “I don’t know that it’s real. It’s just—being honest when you still have the chance.”

“And what are you being honest about?”

I moved before him, and he wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me onto his lap. I skimmed my fingers over his cheek before reaching around my back for his right hand. He released his grip quickly as if he’d been caught, but I only moved it back around and pressed his palm flat against my chest. His fingers relaxed, and I reached out to touch his chest too. To feel his heart beating beneath his ribs.

“Can you feel that?” I asked.

“It’s beating fast,” he noted. “Are you afraid?” I shook my head.

“I’m not afraid. Yours is beating as fast as mine. Are you afraid?” He stretched out his fingers, laying his palm flat against my skin. His thumb grazed the skin beneath the hem of my shirt.

“No.”

“Then—what if—it is real?” I whispered.

“You felt guilty.” I moved my hand to his face again. I could see what Sam and Steve said about him looking at me differently. It had probably been there all along, and I hadn’t even noticed it. It was clear now.

“You said this can’t last. Maybe you’re right. The farther you let something like this go—the more it hurts when it’s over.” He moved his hand to the crook of my neck. His touch was gentle, in spite of the fact that the hand had been made to cause pain.

“It doesn’t have to be over now,” he said. “This is the closest I’ve been to real—anything—that I can remember.” His thumb moved over my neck, making my heart jump again. “So when it does end—I’ll have something to hold onto.”

I moved forward and pressed my lips against his again. It was the closest thing to genuine affection I’d heard from another person in a long time. I’d heard the words “I love you,” but never felt like it meant anything. Not to me or the person who said it. It was too soon to love Bucky because it hadn’t been long enough yet. But whatever it was between us, it was as real as my heartbeat.

His hand went back to my waist and pulled me against him. I could feel his heart against my chest now, and I hoped it meant he could feel mine. But his lips broke away and came to rest on my chin.

“Promise?” I whispered. “That you’ll hold onto it? You’ll keep fighting?”

“Yes,” he replied.

I moved my lips back to his, and his hands slid up my back and into my hair. He kissed me roughly and then moved me back onto the mattress.

“Are you sure?” I asked, breaking away. “That this is what you want?”

“I am capable of making decisions for myself, Jo,” he replied.

“I know that. I just want to know that you’re sure.”

“I can’t remember ever wanting anything—as badly as I want you.” I kissed him again, and our kissing had gotten harder and more urgent. His hand moved to the space between my shirt and my pants. He pulled away again. “Now you. Same question.”

“Yes,” I said. “Same answer.”

“Just promise me something.”

“What?”

“Tell me if I hurt you. Or you want me to stop.”

“I will. But you have to promise me the same.” He almost smiled again, pausing as he hovered over me.

“You’re afraid of hurting me?” he questioned. I ran my hands up and down his arms.

“Not necessarily. But just tell me—if you’re overwhelmed, or you want to stop. I won’t mind.”

“I will.” He leaned down to kiss me again. We didn't say anything else.


	32. Chapter 32

The next morning, I woke to sunlight filtering through the thick trees in the yard. It was a breezy morning, and the trees waved quietly, leaving dancing shadows on the walls. Bucky’s metal arm was wrapped around me, heavy on my body, but I didn’t want to wake him up. It was the most content I’d felt in a long time, and I didn’t want to ruin the momentary peacefulness in two otherwise chaotic lives.

I moved anyway. Not to get out of bed, just to roll over and face him. He reacted instantly. His arm shifted so that it wasn’t so heavy on me and I could move more freely. I rolled onto my side and looked up at the sleepy man on my pillow.

He looked happy. For the first time since I’d met him, he appeared completely and utterly content. There was a light in his blue eyes. They were sleepy but relaxed. The corners of his lips were already hinting at the almost smile, but it wasn’t strained. Like he was preparing himself for a smile he already expected. It looked like he might have actually gotten a good night’s sleep. I would have thought that if I didn’t know any better.

I leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips. His metal fingers gripped my shoulder gently in response.

“Does it feel more real to you now?” I asked, mostly because I wanted confirmation that I wasn’t the only one who felt it. The smile appeared as easy as expected.

“It was always real for me,” he said. His hand came out from under my pillow, and he touched his knuckles to my chest to feel my heart beating.

“Who would have guessed you were such a cheeseball.” His smile was crooked. He apparently thought I was amusing.

“Are there no cheeseballs in this century? Always worked when I was younger.” I laughed.

“I kind of like it. But you have to promise not to tell anyone.”

I leaned into him and rested my head against his chest. I wrapped an arm around him, and we laid there for a moment. His heart was beating in a relaxed pattern, and I thought of all the things he’d told me in the dark the night before. Some good things. And some not so good.

But the moments between conversations. Those were good. When the only sounds had been our own quick breaths and the creak of the bed frame. It had been a long time since I’d woken up to warm arms and the sound of another heart beating alongside my own. It was a reminder that this was real. He was a human with a heart and a mind of his own. And no matter what happened, even if there was no future beyond what we’d shared in the night, as long as that heart continued to beat I would want him to be safe.

It wasn’t love, I didn’t think, and it was pointless to hope for something so permanent in something so fleeting. But I almost wanted it to be. Love was messy and complicated, and our lives were already complicated enough as it was. But it was much easier to keep moving forward when you had it. Even if it wasn’t romantic. I could love him that way. Even if I could never have him.

“Are you hungry?” I mumbled, face squished against his chest.

“No,” he replied. His voice rumbled low and deep in my ear.

“Are you just saying that because you don’t want to get out of bed?” His cold fingers touched my bare back.

“Maybe,” he admitted. I looked back up and smiled at his lazy expression.

“We can make breakfast.”

“Or we could just stay here.”

“I would like that, but I’m starving. And I could drink like—an entire gallon of water.”

“Fine. But only if we make waffles again. I think they’re my favorite.”

“I think you just have a sweet tooth. But we can make them if you want.”

“I do. And I think you’re right. I also feel like I should come up with another cheesy line, but nothing is coming to mind. I’ll have to work on that.”

“I’ll take a rain check.”

I slid out from under his arm and then got out of bed to find something to wear. I settled on a plain t-shirt and some jeans for now. Bucky put on the clothes he’d been wearing the night before. My phone began to buzz as he pulled his hair up out of his face. I reached for it, and my heart leaped in my chest.

It was Stark, and I wasn’t in the mood to deal with his snarkiness so early in the morning. I forgot he had Jarvis keeping track of my heart rate and body temperature. That meant he was probably aware that we were both awake, and also aware of the fact that our heart rates and body temps had been off the charts during the night. Twice.

I pressed accept and brought the phone to my ear. Then motioned for Bucky to follow me into the hallway.

“I don’t want to hear it,” I told Tony. “I completely forgot.”

“There’s someone in your house,” he said. He wasn’t using his playful tone. This was serious Tony. The guy who flew around in a metal suit and put himself at risk for others. Not the one who threw parties and imitated Marilyn Monroe when he answered phone calls.

We’d stepped out into the hall, so I put my hand on Bucky’s chest to stop him.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You’ve got company. Steve is on his way.”

“You don’t mean Bucky?”

“Unless you’ve got a third wheel I don’t know about, I’d get the hell out of there.”

“Stay on the line.”

“I am.” I pulled the phone away and looked up at Bucky’s concerned expression.

“There’s someone else here,” I told him.

His body went rigid, and his expression hardened. The relaxed and content Bucky in my bed minutes before was gone, and for a moment I didn’t know if I’d be able to get him back. I didn’t want him to cross that line again. But if someone were in the house, we’d have to face it eventually.

“I’ll go first,” he said, then he headed for the staircase. I hurried after him.

“Bucky, don’t. Let’s just get out of here.” He turned back around to face me.

“There’s no getting out now, Jo.”

He slid out of my grasp and headed down the stairs. His shoulders were straight, and he walked like he was prepared for a fight. I could hear the distinctly digital sound of his arm powering up as he gripped his fingers into a fist. I followed after, still clutching the phone in my hand.

“Jo!” Tony was shouting from the speaker. “Johanna!” I didn’t want to answer him until I knew what was going on. Bucky made it to the bottom of the stairs and surveyed the room. Then he turned toward the kitchen. I lingered at the bottom, watching him disappear into the hallway. “Johanna!” Then I heard the unmistakable click of a bullet entering a chamber. I froze. “Jo?” Tony was still shouting, but I couldn’t answer now even if I wanted to.

“Put the phone down,” a voice said from behind. I pinched my eyes shut, recognizing that voice. I just hoped I never had to hear it again. I lifted my hands and dropped the phone. It bounced against the bare wood floor, and the glass went clear. “Turn around.” I turned to face him and pried my eyes open.

“Oscar,” I said with a nod of greeting. The gun was now aimed at the center of my forehead. There was an inch of space between me and the weapon, but I could feel its phantom touch. I held my hands up in surrender. I wouldn’t be fast enough to grab the gun.

He was dressed in all black, like Rumlow’s secret team of a-holes. But I wasn’t afraid of him. Even with the weapon to my head. It was Bucky I was worried about. I didn’t think he’d hurt me, but I knew he was nearby. I couldn’t hear him moving through the house, but he only made noise when he wanted me to hear him.

“How’s Hydra been working out for you?” I asked.

“You know what they say, Johanna. Cut off one head and two more grow back,” he replied with a casual smile. His face seemed more drawn out than I remembered. Maybe he finally got that promotion and it was a bit harder on him than he expected. I really hoped he felt guilty.

I took a step back, hoping to put more distance between me and the gun. Maybe I’d have a chance to grab it then. But my body hit a solid figure, and I paused. I didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, but I knew exactly who it was. My raised elbow brushed against something smooth and cold like metal. I’d spent the night getting familiar with that body.

Oscar had undoubtedly known he was there, but he’d never made any sudden movements. His eyes didn’t move when Bucky appeared. He gave nothing away to me. I could feel Bucky’s heart beating against my back. He was waiting for something. Either instructions from Oscar. Or me. I might not be fast enough to get the gun before it could go off, but Bucky was. And I had to hope he was still on my side. So I stretched my fingers out and motioned forward.

His arm shot outward and yanked the gun out of Oscar’s hand before he had enough time to pull the trigger. The weapon was sent across the room and skidded to a halt beside the couch. Bucky shoved me against the stairs and his body twisted as he threw his fist into Oscar’s face. Blood spurted from his mouth, and he crashed into the entertainment center, sending a shower of books and DVD cases onto the floor.

The front door burst open with a bang and a whole group of Hydra agents swarmed into the room. They were all clad in black and had their guns raised at Bucky. I stayed on the stairs. I was unarmed, and all I could do was provide a distraction if he needed it. I’d have to wait for my moment.

“Drop him, Solider!” one of the agents shouted.

In the commotion, Bucky had wrapped his hand around Oscar’s throat and lifted him off of the floor. He responded to the order and released his grip, but instead of waiting for another order, he swung around and sent his fist into another face. A moment later, his elbow met with a nose, and another man was flipped over his shoulders. He landed with a crash on the coffee table, sending broken and splintered wood across the room. I scooted down the stairs and reached for one of the jagged shards of wood to use as a weapon. But before I could reach it, there was another gun between my eyes.

It took a second to react. I didn’t know if it was instinct or the thrill of the fight, but I kicked out my leg and struck him in the stomach. He flew backward and landed on the wall in the hallway, but quickly regained balance and rushed at me. We met as I jumped off of the bottom step. Our bodies collided and the two of us slammed onto the hard floor.

“Jo!” Bucky shouted.

He had the pink knife in his hand. I’d left it on the end table the night before. He tossed it toward me, and it slid across the floor. I scrambled to get free of the agent and wrapped my fingers around the glittery handle. The blade swished open with the click of a button, and I swung back around. I didn’t want to kill anyone, but I didn’t want them to get away unscathed either.

I got him across the forehead. He yelped and jumped back to get out of my reach, landing himself in Bucky’s path of destruction. Bucky launched him across the room with a single swipe. He crashed into the chair and knocked over a lamp. That left the two of us standing in a sea of bodies in the middle of the living room.

Bucky clearly wasn’t satisfied with that. He stepped over a motionless agent and went right to where Oscar was struggling to get to his feet by the stairs. He gripped him by the throat and pinned him to the wall with his metal hand. Oscar was bleeding badly, but Bucky wasn’t going to let him die easy. He squeezed his fingers, cutting off Oscar’s breathing. He sneered as he waited for the man to turn blue. He might have already been dead if Bucky’s arm was working properly. Despite not working at full capacity, it was still capable of a lot of damage. It was all he was armed with, and there wasn’t a single person still standing.

Oscar began to struggle. He kicked his legs and yanked helplessly at the metal around his throat. He choked and sputtered, and all I could do was keep my eyes on Bucky’s face. He didn’t look like Bucky anymore. This was the Winter Soldier, and he was even more terrifying than the few glimpses I thought I’d seen before. I walked over to them and dropped to the floor on the other side of Oscar. I put my hand on Bucky’s arm so that he could feel my skin and maybe I could bring him back.

“Bucky, listen to me,” I said, using a soft tone, even though my heart was pounding and I could barely breathe. My lip was bleeding and swelling, and it hurt to talk. “Bucky, let him go. I know you want to kill him, but you’re not a killer. That’s not you. Please let him go?”

He barred his gritted teeth like a wild animal. His eyes were pinched and dark, and for the first time since that night in the kitchen, I was genuinely afraid of him. He showed me that he knew the difference between them and me, but I didn’t want him to kill again. He deserved to be free of that guilt, and this death would be a choice. He wanted Oscar to die, and he was enjoying it.

“Let him go,” I whispered. “Please?”

Finally, he released his fingers, and Oscar stopped struggling. He was unconscious and slumped against the wall. I checked him just to be sure he was breathing, and then Bucky leaned forward, leveling his eyes with mine. They were still dark and violent, but he looked at me like he was trying to show me who he truly was. After the night we’d shared, it was a startling contrast.

“I want him to die,” he whispered in a cold voice. “I want to do it. And that’s why there’s no future with me. I want to kill all of them.” I nodded slowly and put my hand on his shoulder.

“I know, but…,” I started.

“I have to go.”

“I know that too.”

“I have to get out while I still can. More of them will come.”

“I’ll stay here and wait for Steve. Get out of here and come back when it’s safe again. Promise me that you’ll come back.” He reached out and pressed his palm flat against my heart. Then he pulled away and stood up.

“I don’t know if I can come back,” he said, turning toward the back door. But he paused before he reached it. He looked back at me, and I could see the regret in his eyes. I hated that I wasn’t enough to protect him. “I’ll find you, though,” he told me. “I promise.” Then he slipped out of the door.


	33. Chapter 33

When Bucky was gone, I turned back to Oscar to make sure he was okay. He appeared to be unconscious, and the other men were groaning throughout the living room. I really hoped none of them were dead. I stood to check a man who was sprawled out on the living room rug. He was breathing, but his spine was bent, and I wasn’t sure he’d be able to recover from that. I knew I shouldn't feel bad for someone who wanted me dead, but I never wanted anyone to get hurt. I guessed that was part of the job risk when you gave your allegiance to Hydra.

I had my eyes off of Oscar for a moment too long. I was checking over the unfamiliar man bleeding on the floor when a boot met the back of my knee. I toppled over, and Oscar’s hand came around my ankle, yanking me back toward him. I swung and tried to fight him off, but he had me pinned in seconds. He smothered my face with his grimy, bloody hands. His face was seething with rage.

I flailed my arms, searching for the knife I’d dropped in my fall. My hand wrapped around the sparkly pink handle. He didn’t try to stop me. He smiled and moved to press his thumb to the hollow of my throat.

“You can’t do it,” he said. “You’ve never been able to do it. You’re too much of a….”

I swung upward and jerked the knife into his chest. I couldn’t pull a trigger, and I never wanted to kill anyone, but that didn’t mean I lacked other skills. I was always good with knives. It was how I’d gotten my team to stop calling me “Tinkerbell.” They thought “Knives” was more appropriate.

His eyes widened in shock. His expression went from amusement to disbelief in a second. He rolled away, gasping and whining about the stupid sparkly pink handle sticking out of his chest. I crawled away and nearly tumbled over the man with the broken spine.

“You bitch,” Oscar said with astonishment. “You little bitch. I can’t believe you actually stabbed me. I’m going to bash your fucking head in.”

Since the knife was gone and I wasn’t about to risk going back for it, I reached for a gun left abandoned by the couch. I got to my feet and raced for the door. I knew Steve was on his way, and if he got there in time, I’d never have to use it. But I didn’t have enough time to find my weapon of choice. I needed something to keep him away, even if I wasn’t brave enough to pull the trigger.

I stumbled out of the front door and into the yard. He shouted and crashed through the house after me. So I spun around and lifted the gun. He’d found another one, probably one that belonged to one of his teammates. He waved it casually as he walked out onto the front steps with my knife still sticking out of his chest. The shock was gone now, replaced by rage.

“I’ve been thinking about this moment since that day you kicked me out,” he said, holding the gun aloft in one hand. The other was clutching his bleeding chest. The bedazzled pink handle protruded from between his fingers, right above the Kevlar vest and below his collarbone. It wasn't a deadly place to be stabbed. “The first time you pulled this stupid pink knife on me, I said to myself, ‘God, I can’t wait to kill this bitch.’ You know what they told me? They said, ‘Not yet. We’ve got plans for that one.’ But they’re not here. And I’m really going to enjoy this.”

He lifted the gun, and there was only a moment for me to make another choice. I could take his life, or I could let him take mine. I knew he wouldn’t aim for my shoulder. He would go right for the face, and I’d never live to see another day. I’d never see Bucky again. And Oscar would never stop hunting him.

My mind went blank. My heart was pounding. I lifted the gun and fired.

It shook in my hands, and the blast reverberated through my whole body. Hard enough to rattle my bones. The shot was so loud it echoed through the otherwise quiet neighborhood. The alarm in Tony’s car began to wail in sync with others parked on the street. Someone screamed from a nearby house.

Oscar’s eyes slid out of focus. Blood poured from the hole in his throat. He took one more step before dropping face first into the grass. He didn’t move again.

I stood still. My brain couldn’t seem to register any thoughts. I moved my hands, and the gun slid from my sweating fingers and landed with a thud on the sidewalk. I limped forward and sat down on the grass at his side to roll him over. The knife was bent by his landing. A chunk of his neck was gone, and I pressed my hand against the hopeless wound. I didn’t remember making the choice to fire. I couldn’t have done it.

I used to fall asleep to the sound of his heart beating the way I had with Bucky the night before. Even though there was a darkness in Oscar, there was a point when I hadn’t seen it. I liked him. And wanted to love him. Long before I knew what he was really capable of. I couldn’t forgive myself if his heart stopped beating because I’d made the choice to end his life.

“Please, don’t die? Please?” I repeated as I started compressions on his chest. I knew it was a lost cause. His airway was already blocked with blood, and there was no life left behind his eyes. It was shock, I realized. My hands felt like ice. They were trembling. I couldn’t breathe.

There were footsteps on the grass, and someone appeared on the other side of Oscar. She pressed her fingers against the side of his neck, checking for a pulse even though it was obvious there wasn’t one. It was the girl who worked for Talbot. Marion.

“Are you okay?” she asked, leaning over his body to put her hands on mine.

“I killed him,” I said. “I didn’t mean to.” She wrapped her hands around my wrists and pushed me away from him.

“He’s dead, Jo. He’s gone.”

“I didn’t. I can’t. I couldn’t.”

“Hon, I think you’re in shock. I already called Colonel Talbot. He’s sending someone over. Are there any more of them?”

I slid my wrists from Marion’s hands and clamored away from the both of them. I staggered to my feet and headed back toward the sidewalk. I didn’t have a destination in mind. I just had to move. My hands were shaking and covered with sticky blood. I couldn’t feel my fingers.

He tried to kill me first, but I could have aimed for his shoulder or his arm. I didn’t think. I just lifted my gun and shot. And now he was dead.

I thought about his mom. The woman I’d never met, who’d invited me over for Christmas dinner because she thought there was actually hope for our relationship. I could imagine the call. The conversation. Who killed my son? The girl you wanted him to marry.

Sam said I had a habit of putting the lives of others before my own. I hadn’t shot Oscar to save myself. But to stop him from going after Bucky. There were others, of course. But at that moment, Oscar was the only threat. And I’d taken the shot without thinking. Because I wasn’t worried about myself.

Bucky wouldn’t come back. And I wasn’t sure I wanted him to see me like that. The rumble of a motorcycle should have alerted me to Steve’s presence. But I was pacing, still lost in my own thoughts. Until I felt a hand on my shoulder, guiding me with incomprehensible words to the grass. I pressed my head against her knees and counted.

“One, two. Three, four.” And again and again. “One, two. Three, four.”

“Are you okay?” Steve was asking. I lifted my head, only half aware that he was there. Blood was caked to the creases of my trembling palms and stuck in my fingernails.

“I didn’t freeze this time,” I told him.

“Where’s Bucky?”

“He’s gone. He didn’t kill anyone. I did.”

“Which way did he go?”

“Through the backyard. I don’t know.”

“I’m going after him. Wait here for Sam. He’s on his way.”

“It’s too late, Steve.” He moved away anyway, and I turned to watch him go.

“Don’t talk to anyone until Sam’s here,” he told me. Then he jumped the fence like it was nothing and left me sitting there on the grass.


	34. Chapter 34

Even though the blood was gone, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I was sitting at the kitchen table with my hands wrapped around a mug of tea. The liquid burned the cut on my lip and scalded my throat. Clara was sitting opposite me. She’d flown in from New York while I was still in Talbot’s custody. Tony was on his way from California.

Bucky hadn’t come back. No one had seen him. I did what Steve said and stayed quiet, even when Sam arrived. He kept his arm around my shoulder while I was questioned, but I kept my mouth shut until Stark’s lawyer came. And even then, I didn’t say much. Steve looked for Bucky as long as he could, and when I was finally allowed back home, I almost expected to find him lurking in the shadows. He never came. And he didn’t come the next night either.

“I just don’t understand why you won’t stay at a hotel,” Clara was saying as she swept her dark brown hair out of her face and stirred the spoon in her mug. She swore the tea would calm my nerves, but it didn’t help. I didn’t expect it to.

My house was trashed, and there was another death on my hands. No matter what anyone said to try and cheer me up, I could still imagine the blood on the lawn. There were stains on the floor and a bullet hole in the doorframe. The bullet had gone through someone’s throat before embedding in the wood. I put it there.

“I can’t stay at a hotel in case he comes back,” I explained, taking another sip and wincing from the sting.

“You can leave him a note. Give him another number to call you at.”

“Tony won’t let me do that. That would tell Hydra exactly how to find me.” She sighed.

“Hydra already knows where you are. How does it make a difference? Let Tony set up more surveillance. He can tell you if Barnes comes back so you can contact him.”

“He won’t come back if I’m not here.”

“I don’t think he’s going to come back anyway.” I glanced at her. She looked so neat and professional sitting in my modest kitchen. She even had pearls in her earlobes, and there wasn’t a single strand of her naturally curly hair out of place.

“He promised he would find me.”

“Let him find you someplace else. And what if they got to him? What if he’s with Hydra again?”

“He’ll come back for me.” She sighed in agitation and looked toward the kitchen window. I glanced at the clock and set the mug back down. “I have to get to my meeting with Talbot. You shouldn’t be alone here. Just in case.”

“You should let me come with you.”

“It’s at the Triskelion, and you haven’t been cleared. So unless you want to wait on the bridge, I’d advise you not to go.”

“You should really have your lawyer with you.”

“It’s not an interrogation. My lawyer already did his job. Talbot just wants to scold me for helping Steve without telling him. It’ll be fine.”

“I wish you weren’t going back to that place. They already ruined your life.”

“I really don’t have the energy to argue with you right now. If I don’t talk to Talbot, he will have me arrested.”

“Tony’s lawyer would get you out, and Tony would pay your bail. You know that.”

“I’d rather not owe Tony more than I already do. I’m going to try and avoid being arrested.”

“Fine.” Clara brushed me off but followed as I left the kitchen.

The neighborhood used to feel like my sanctuary. It was standard and boring, and there was something safe in that routine. The neighbors were predictable and never really bothered me. Girl Scouts felt safe enough to walk down the street and sell cookies.

Now the place was darkened by what I’d done. I brought a darkness into their normal boring routines. There were no kids running off to school, or people out jogging or mowing lawns. Everyone felt the presence of Oscar’s death, even though they didn’t know him. I brought danger into their lives just by allowing Hydra into mine. No matter what I did, that darkness seemed to follow.

Clara stayed with me until I got to the car. She stood on the edge of the driveway, arms crossed over her chest. She looked tired, despite looking so perfectly poised and clean so early in the morning. I had told her to go home and let me deal with my problems on my own, but she refused to go. The ride to speak to Talbot would be the first time I’d been alone since I was released. I opened the door and looked back at my sister.

“Don’t stay here by yourself,” I reminded her.

“I’m just going to clean up, and then Tony should be here. Maybe we’ll go get breakfast and wait for you to finish,” she explained. “Call me when you’re done with Talbot.” I gave her a quick nod before sliding into the car.

I hated driving alone. It was when my mind was free to wander, and I had no one to talk to. It didn’t matter how high I turned up the music or how much I concentrated on the road. The thoughts always caught up with me. I would have asked Clara to join if I wasn’t desperate for a moment of solitude. And I also didn’t want Clara to hear all the things I was going to have to tell Talbot. Clara wouldn’t understand.

Even though it was so early, it was passed the morning rush hour. When I worked for SHIELD, I was always on my way to work before the sun came up. So while there were still cars on the road, it was an easy drive. I didn’t have to stop often, and there was enough space for me to pass the black SUV that was being annoying slow in front of me. But the car was too goddamn silent, and I could never find a station I liked. So I took my eyes off the road just to switch over to a disk.

But they were off the road just a second too long. The car that had been beside me for the past few minutes made a sudden sideswipe. My car jerked from the impact and I returned my eyes to the road just quick enough to catch the sight of the SUV’s brake lights, before swerving and slamming the brakes. The car swung to the side and smashed into the guardrail. The airbag detonated into my face, causing my lip to break back open.

“Miss Hayes, I’ve detected an impact,” Jarvis informed me. I didn’t have time to respond before the door was ripped open and the seatbelt yanked off. I was dragged from the vehicle and out onto the open freeway.

I was tossed onto the pavement and then a gun pressed against the back of my skull. It had happened so fast I took a moment to assess the situation. A whole group of agents was climbing out of the black SUV. I would have noticed there were too many of them on the road, if this was anywhere other than DC.

A man was standing in the center of the group. He wasn’t dressed like the others. They’d left his metal arm exposed, and his long hair was lashing in his face. He had his sharp blue eyes on mine. His expression was deeply concerned.

“Shoot her,” the man behind me instructed. One of them held out a gun, but Bucky made no move for it as they cleared his path. “Shoot her, or I will. You said you were loyal to us. I want you to prove it. Shoot her.”

“She hasn’t done anything,” Bucky argued. The man used the gun to shove my head. I winced from the strike.

“It’s not your job to ask questions, Soldier. Shoot her!”

“She’s a civilian.”

The man hit me on the back of the head and pushed me forward again. Bucky reached for the gun and lifted it in my direction. Only a few yards were separating us, and he had the weapon aimed at my face. I wanted to beg him not to do it, but I could already tell that he didn’t want to. This man was dressed like the Winter Soldier, but there was too much emotion in his expression for him to be anyone but Bucky. There was life in his blue eyes. Too much fear and discomfort. Invisible marks that I’d left on him.

“Shoot her!” the man shouted. I flinched when Bucky’s hands tightened on the gun.

I knew he didn’t want to do it. He didn’t want to follow orders anymore, and even if what the man said was true and Bucky swore loyalties to them, I didn’t believe he’d done it willingly. They apparently hadn’t tampered with his memories, and maybe that was all he could do to save himself from that torture. They were going to torture him anyway. He’d have to shoot me or watch me die.

All of them had their guns raised even though I was unarmed. There was no way I’d be able to get out of it. He could shoot the man behind me, but then the rest of them would open fire, and I’d still die. He could try fighting them, but despite his many talents, it would only take one second for one or more of them to pull a trigger. All he could do was buy me time, and I could see on his face that he didn’t know how.

He was breathing hard as he weighed the options in his mind. There had to be a loophole for me to escape through, but I couldn’t think of anything. And I didn’t know if it was because I’d just been in a car accident, or there wasn’t one. Bucky looked like he’d come to the same conclusion.

“Bucky,” I said softly. His lips were set in a straight line, but his eyes were conflicted. “It’s okay,” I told him. “Because—it was real. Just—no matter what happens—don’t let them take that from you. Count your heartbeats. Like I showed you. And you’ll know. You’re human, and even if they take me from you, you’ll still have that.”

“You’re pathetic,” the man behind me said. “A failure and a traitor.” The gun cocked with a metallic click. And then Bucky jerked to the side and fired.

I heard the loud bang and slammed into the man behind me before dropping to the pavement. My right shoulder exploded with pain, and I screamed as I rolled to my side. I’d forgotten just how sharp and excruciating the pain was. Even in all my nightmares and flashbacks, my memory didn’t prepare me for it. The pain was explosive and unexpected. I cried out as I clutched the bleeding hole the bullet had torn through me.

The man stepped over me, and I watched until my eyes landed on Bucky. He still looked pained, but he was watching the man expectantly as he tossed something to the agent beside Bucky.

“The Winter Soldier is compromised. Take him out and prep her for transport,” he said.

Bucky sprang into action. He spun around and cracked the man in the face with his metal fist. The agent next to him reached out with whatever he’d been handed and slammed the object into Bucky’s neck. He stumbled and tried to fight, but his face went red, and he fell forward to his knees. His eyes met mine.

“Run,” he said.

I tried to get back on her feet, but I knew I wouldn’t be fast enough. Even if I made it to the car in time, they’d blocked off the area with their fleet of SUV’s. The most I could do was lock the door and hope that Tony made the windows bullet resistant.

I got up and limped toward the car, clutching my bleeding shoulder. Bucky was still struggling behind me but slowing. I kept her eyes forward. I couldn’t help if I were dead, but it took everything I had not to turn back and fight. I just had to take his gift of more time and hope for the best.

“Get him in the car. I’ll do it myself,” the man said. A bullet zinged past me and struck the car hard enough to crack the glass. I froze. “Turn around.”

I did what I was told and turned, but looked passed him at where Bucky had fallen unconscious on the cement. The other agents were trying to get him up so they could drag him back to one of the cars. Then he agent stepped in front of me and blocked him from view. He lifted his gun.

“Agent Hayes,” he said with a smile. There was blood dripping from his nose. “We want to thank you, truly, for everything you’ve done for us. And thank you for taking such good care of the asset while we got up and running again. Now we can rebuild him stronger and better than he ever was before. And when we do that, we’re going to send him after every single person you love. Starting with your sister.”

“You’ve made a horrible mistake, you know that?” I said, breathing heavily. “Because my car has a crash detector—and it links directly to Iron Man.”

He laughed like he didn’t believe me, but I’d seen the flash of red before he did. Bucky had given me just enough time. The red blur flew at him from the side and caught him in the gut, flinging him across the road toward the divider. He skidded to a halt and then jumped back to his feet.

Tony’s suits were always more impressive up close. I could hear him moving toward me, then the mask was staring down at me. I slumped against the car and slid to the ground.

“Are you alright?” Tony’s voice asked through a digital transmitter.

“Been better,” I admitted.

A bullet struck the side of his helmet, and he immediately turned and flew off again. The black SUV they’d stuck Bucky in was already speeding down the freeway. Cars were lined up behind the blockage of the wreck, and I knew Steve wouldn’t make it through in time to stop them. I wouldn’t drive fast enough to catch up, let alone fight them. My head was already spinning.

I finally managed to work up enough strength to get back on my feet. Tony had the agent by the ankle and was holding him over the edge of the overpass. The man was screaming, and he’d dropped his gun at Tony’s feet. I limped over to them.

“Tony!” I shouted. The mask turned in my direction. “Leave me with the gun. Go after Bucky, please?”

“Can’t do that, Jo,” he said.

“Please?” I begged. I reached for the gun on the ground. “For me?” He turned and dumped the man on the road at my feet.

“I’m doing it because they’re Hydra. Not for you,” he said. Then he flew off down the road after the car.

I held the gun up with my left hand. It was shaking, but the agent didn’t know about my inability to pull a trigger. At least I hoped he didn’t. Either way, he must have known it wouldn’t be the first time I’d shot someone in the last week.

“He won’t catch them,” he said, sitting up on his knees and staring up at me like a guilty dog. “You’ll never get him back. It’s too late for him, Agent Hayes. It’s too late for you. Because when we rebuild him—we’re going to send him after you. And you won’t be able to save him this time. We’ll make sure of it.” I responded by switching off the safety lock. “You can’t shoot me. You’re bleeding out. You don’t have the upper body strength.”

“You really want to test me?” I asked, stepping forward to close the distance between the barrel of the gun and his forehead. “You know that’s the last thing Agent Harman said to me too, right? He said I couldn’t do it. And I shot him through the jugular. And I was in a good mood that day.”

“What were your last words to James Barnes before he shot you, Hayes? Words don’t mean anything. He’ll forget you. And then we’ll send him to kill all your friends one by one. We’ll make you watch.”

The blood was draining from my body too quickly. The wound wasn’t fatal, as far as I could tell, but the bleeding wasn’t slowing. My head was getting dizzier, and I was having a hard time holding the gun up. I just wanted to stay conscious long enough for Tony to get back or for Steve to find me. But the pain was growing unbearable, and I could already see black dots popping up in my eyes.

“You already tried that,” I said, struggling to breathe through the pain. “You couldn’t kill my friends. And do you hear that?” The freeway below was loud with passing cars and trucks, cars were honking beyond the buildup. Sirens blared in the distance. But beneath all of that, I could make out the familiar rumble of a motorcycle engine. I knew that sound better than anyone. “That,” I told him, “is my upper body strength.”

I stumbled backward and dropped the gun. I couldn’t hold it up anymore, but the sound of the engine was deafening now. He jerked for the weapon, and his fingers had just grasped the handle when a shield spun passed and struck him in the face. He hit the guardrail and was out cold. The shield slid across the road before coming to a stop. When I turned around, Steve was standing on the trunk of my car.

“Are you okay?” he asked, jumping down to the ground. His face was focused. I shook her head.

“Tony went after him.” I motioned down the freeway. “He shot me.” Then I dropped to the ground and rested my head against the rail. I pinched my eyes shut and pressed my palm against the wound.


	35. Chapter 35

The window was too goddamn bright to get any sleep. Clara said I needed as much rest as I could get, but I was used to having trees block the window. I missed the shadows and the lumpy mattress. I couldn’t even see any trees from my floor. Just a clear blue sky and the city beyond. I couldn’t sleep.

At least Clara had taken the hint and stopped trying to talk to me. I was still groggy from surgery and didn’t want to speak at all, let alone about Bucky. Though we still differed in opinion, Clara was at least avoiding the, “I told you so.” I could hear it in her voice every time she opened her mouth.

Clara told me that taking Steve’s mission was dangerous and getting involved with Bucky was a bad move. I should have just stood back and done what I was told. I should have insisted Bucky talked to Steve right away and stayed out of their business. But I still believed I’d done something right. Even if it hadn’t lasted long and they were likely going to wipe his memories again.

The few agents who were captured would tell them anything. Tony wasn’t able to catch up to the SUV. Or at least that’s what he told me. They interrogated the agent who’d instructed Bucky to shoot me. But after a cryptic “I was given strict orders not to kill her,” he broke a capsule in his mouth and died before speaking another word. The survivors of Bucky’s rampage in the living room wouldn’t talk either.

Steve promised to keep looking, but every minute that passed felt grimmer than the one before. I knew all hope was lost when I heard the tap on the door and his quiet voice.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure, of course,” Clara replied. She hopped out of her chair and went to greet him. She was so sweet toward him and so cold toward Bucky. I didn’t blame Steve for getting me involved, but he was more responsible for what happened than Bucky was. But Clara continued to treat Steve like he was a saint.

I kept my eyes on the window. I didn’t want to talk to him unless he had good news. And I could tell it wasn’t good just by the stance of his shoulders from the corner of my eye.

“She’s not really up for company,” Clara informed him. “But I’m sure it’s important. Though, I should warn you that she’s still a little loopy. She uh—has no verbal filter. She’s kind of mean actually.” Another voice laughed. It sounded like Sam.

Steve appeared around the side of the bed and took a seat on the chair beneath the window. I couldn’t ignore him if I tried. He gave me a smile, and I stared back emotionless.

“How are you doing?” he asked, setting a laptop down on his legs.

“Been better,” I remarked.

“I have some news.”

“I don’t want to hear it unless it’s good.” He took a deep breath and sighed.

“You told me to keep you updated. Sam and I have been following his trail.”

“I know.”

“We thought it might be best if you went back to Malibu with Stark and your sister—for the time being.” I tried to sit up but winced from the pain. My right arm was stuck in a sling and pretty much useless. The bullet had shattered my bone, and the pain hurt much worse than the first time.

“I can’t go to Malibu,” I insisted. “I have to find Bucky. No offense, Steve, but I’m the only one who’s going to be able to get through to him.”

“No offense, Jo,” Sam said, leaning against the foot of the bed. “But you’re not going to be able to do much of anything. Not while Barnes is with Hydra and they’ve got you on their list.”

“I can still stay here. I can still help. I was getting through to him. I know what he’s like. I know how he operates.”

“You know how Bucky operates. Not the Winter Soldier.”

“You can’t even move your arm,” Clara pointed out. “There’s nothing you can do here. There’s no place safer for you than with us.”

“And what happens when you find him, and I’m not here to help?” I asked Steve. My voice cracked, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to fight the tears this time. “You’re going to try and get through to him on your own?”

“Barnes might not come back, Jo,” Sam told me. “No matter what you think you can do.”

“You don’t know that! You said that Hydra’s higher-ups have been taken down. The guys who got into my house were amateurs. They were Hydra cockroaches. They have no idea what they’re doing, and their facilities have been destroyed.”

“Some of them,” Steve said. “That’s just in the US. We still have tons of information to sift through before we even scratch the surface of what Hydra has done and what they have their hands into. And uh—we managed to get ahold of some security footage from what we thought was an abandoned facility.” I cut my eyes to him and looked down at the laptop he brought. I should have known he had it for a reason.

“How?” I asked.

“They sent it to me. And to you.”

“Please don’t?” I begged.

He stood anyway and put the laptop down on my legs. He opened the lid and it instantly came to life on a black video screen. He tapped the play button, and I pinched my eyes shut and took a deep breath. I didn’t want to see it, but I knew he was showing me for a reason. He wasn’t going to let me run away.

The video started in what looked like a lab. It was black and white, and the screen and audio were fuzzy. Bucky was thrashing around the room, knocking things over and throwing punches at whoever was dumb enough to approach him. They were trying to subdue him, but he was chaotic and violent, as well as sloppy on his feet. It was clearly after the drugs had worn off.

“I don’t want to watch this,” I told Steve.

“You have to,” he told me.

“Where is she?” Bucky growled, with a slight slur in his voice. I wanted to shut my eyes, but even if I did, I’d never forget the sound of rage and pain in his tone. The deep throaty growl was more painful to hear than seeing him thrash around on a rampage.

“She’s dead,” someone shouted. “She’s dead!” Another man appeared on the corner of the screen, holding his hand up in surrender. “She’s gone!” Bucky stumbled back, unable to make sense in his hazy state.

“He never said I had to kill her. I heard what they were saying. They wanted her in alive. I did what I was told. I shot her. I did what you asked.”

“I know you did.”

“You killed her?” His voice had gone so quiet I almost couldn’t hear it. He straightened up and tightened his fists as he prepared to start swinging again.

“I didn’t kill her! You were right. They wanted us to bring her back alive,” the man said, hurrying to lift his hands to calm Bucky down. “It was Erikson. He disobeyed the orders. He thought he was protecting you from her. You understand? You don’t know what she’s capable of. He thought it would be better this way.”

“She’s gone?”

“Yes. She’s gone. I got the report back from Erikson. Point blank. No vitals. I can give you the report if you want it.”

Bucky turned away, breathing hard and swaying on his feet. The others moved around the room, attempting to repair the damage he caused. He stood still for a long moment as the other man waved orders behind his back. Then after a pause, he reached for something off screen and sat down in the chair.

“Just do it,” he said. His voice had gone hard and cold.

He stuck a mouth guard into his mouth, and the man jumped forward to strap him in before he regained enough senses to change his mind. The machine started up, and the headpiece moved down to cradle Bucky’s skull. His breathing sped up as he anticipated what was about to come. He told me once it was the only thing he really remembered clearly. It hurt every time. His fingers gripped the arm of the chair, and I reached out to shut the laptop before I had to see it.

“Why did you show me this?” I asked. My chest was heavy, and I didn’t think I’d win against the tears this time.

“Hydra wanted you to see it,” Steve told me. I pinched my lips shut and glared at the wall. I was angry at him for making him see it, even though it wasn’t really his fault. “I wanted you to understand.”

“He shot me to buy me time.”

“I know.”

“They told him I was dead—to make him more compliant. He let them do that—because of me.”

“Because he thought he had nothing to come back to.”

“He actually believed them.”

“He was fighting off sedatives. And you have to remember what kind of control they have over him. It’s going to take him some time to let go of the urge to trust them.”

I breathed hard through the tightness in my chest. The tears were welling up in my eyes even though I was trying so hard to hold it back. I didn’t want anyone seeing me cry, let alone Captain America. I didn’t want the tears to be mistaken for weakness. Clara patted my leg, and I moved away. I wiped the moisture away before it started dripping down my face.

“Was the video traceable?” I finally asked. Steve nodded.

“Stark tracked down the facility. An abandoned bank vault. It’s been sealed off, but they vacated before we found it.”

“What about the equipment? They wouldn’t have been able to transport a cryogenic chamber on short notice.” Steve shrugged.

“We don’t know what they do or don’t have access to. Hydra was using SHIELD, but they weren’t SHIELD. Romanoff dumped all SHIELD files onto the internet. Most of Hydra’s secrets were still encrypted. Or unavailable.”

“Do you think they’ll put him back under?”

“I don’t know. But I’ll do what I can to find him regardless. Even if they can’t put him back on ice—they can still get into his head.”

“He told me that he always started to remember things every time he was out of cryo for too long. He said it’s what happened with you. His mind was already starting to slip, and it was harder and harder to put it back together the longer he was out. You just happened to accelerate it.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for.”

“Why did you really show me this video, Steve?” I looked at him, and he gave a sympathetic expression. I couldn’t hide my tears anymore, but he didn’t look at me like he thought I was weak. It was understanding. And I felt like an ass for thinking it would be anything else.

“Because I think you should go to Malibu with your sister. At least long enough to get back on your feet. Let us do the dirty work until you’re ready.”

“Do you think he won’t remember me?”

“No, he won’t. They’re going to make sure of it. And I think that’s why you should go. If he doesn’t remember and he kills you—what’s that going to do to him when he snaps out if it again? There’d be no hope getting him back after that.”

“How long am I supposed to stay in Malibu? Until I can use my arm again?”

“However long you need to recover, Jo.”

“I can do this. I can handle it.”

“It’s not about you not being able to handle it. Bucky is stronger than you. And he won’t think twice about killing you. I want to put enough space between the two of you to make him think twice. And you heard what they said. They were ordered to bring you in alive.”

“You’re pushing me aside because I’ll get in the way.”

“With an arm that doesn’t work, yes. Stark can keep you safe while you recover. I promise I’ll do whatever I can to get Bucky back. But I can’t risk him getting to you first. Not if he thinks you’re a threat. And believe me, Jo, they’re going to make him see you that way.”

“You know it won’t matter where you send me. If they send him after me, he’ll find me.” He nodded and stood up.

“I know. But at least you’d be safer with Stark than alone in your house.” He collected the laptop and turned to leave. “I’m sorry, Jo,” he said, patting my foot at the end of the bed. He gave Clara a nod and left the room. I followed after him, but Sam stayed behind. I didn’t look at him, and he didn’t say anything until they were both gone.

“I have something for you. I know it’s not the same but—I figured you could add your own sparkle to it,” he said. He stood up and pulled something from his back pocket. Then he set it down in my lap. It was a hot pick switchblade. It didn’t have bedazzled jewels on it like Clara’s knife, but I appreciated the gesture.

“Remember what we talked about,” he whispered so Steve and Clara couldn’t overhear from the hallway. “You don’t have to carry a gun to be a hero. Whatever it is you decide to do—all you need to do is call.” I wrapped my fingers around the hilt and looked up at him.

“You said I might not be able to get him back,” I reminded him. He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You won’t get him back from this life. The running. The fighting. That’s always going to be part of him. Just like it’s always going to be part of Steve. You won’t save him from that. But if anyone can get through to him, it’s you. You just have to find a way to make it work because I don’t think the white picket fence kinda life is really your thing either.”

“What do you suggest I do?”

“Like I said, find your Project Falcon. Even if it’s in Malibu. Even if it’s something, you thought you were running away from.” I nodded slowly.

“Thank you, Sam.”

“You’re welcome. And I’ll be waiting for that phone call. I heard that name they used to call you. Something about Knives?” He smiled and patted my foot before leaving me alone.


	36. Finale

I had never been to the West Coast before going to stay in Malibu. Tony once offered to take the entire family to Disneyland, but since there were no children in the family, we didn’t accept. Also mostly because it was just a ruse to get Clara to stay with him in Malibu instead of spending all her time in New York.

Even though I’d grown up in Ohio, DC was my home. I’d lived there for the past few years. And it didn’t seem like much in the span of my life, but it was where my memories were the sharpest, even if they weren’t the fondest.

When Tony’s private jet landed in California, I felt like I’d moved to a different planet. Tony lived by the ocean in a tropical area that was sweltering hot in the sun and freezing in the shade. I could never get used to it.

The house was also as lavish as I expected. It had more windows than any home needed, and it was always too bright and too cold. There were too many rooms, and Tony spent all his time in his lab talking to his robots, while Clara hid in the upstairs office working.

Tony gave me a job that I could do at home, so I never had to leave. It was too simple to be a real job, and he gave me more money than I deserved. I saved it so I’d have something to fall back on when I inevitably returned to DC. Since I had no plans to go to New York with them. Clara, however, kept making excuses for why I couldn’t go yet because she was sure I'd be brutally murdered by a super-assassin.

During the late afternoons, I would take my laptop out onto the back deck that overlooked the ocean. I’d hide in the cool shade for as long as I could handle it. I liked it better out there. I felt less cooped up by the ocean. And Clara and Tony were getting ready to leave for some event, and I could hear them bickering with each other.

Clara seemed to think that I wasn’t recovering because I sat around the house all day and didn’t bother to get dressed in regular clothes most of the time. She thought working on the laptop was putting too much strain on my arm and suggested I lie around and do nothing instead. But she didn't like me leaving the house too much, just in case I was kidnapped. If I didn’t work, then I would think, and I hated thinking more than working.

Even though there weren’t any more staples in my shoulder and I didn’t have to wear a sling, it still hurt constantly. Most of the bone was replaced or plated. The scars forming on the new wound were oddly different from the ones on the other side. It was red and painful, and the bullet and surgery left clear lines instead of spiderwebs of fused tissue.

Whenever conversations about the shoulder came up, Clara liked to remind me of who had put them there. He was the reason my arm was so difficult to move without pain, and the reason I sat outside all day with nothing but my thoughts and a ridiculously simple job.

It didn’t matter how many times I tried to explain that Bucky shot me to buy me time and save my life. It didn’t matter that he was a perfect shot and changed his target at the very last second. It didn’t matter that his plan worked and that he’d bought enough time for Tony to get to me. Clara still wasn’t convinced that he hadn’t done it out of malevolence.

The screen door beside me was open, and I could hear Clara clicking around the house in her heels, arguing with Tony. Tony had some special event planned that she didn’t want to attend, but he insisted she had to be there. Since her job was to lead the PR team and make sure he didn’t say anything stupid. Or at least clean up the mess in the press when he inevitably did.

“I don’t need keys!” Tony was arguing as he followed her around the house. “It’s fingerprint activated. If you kept the car I got you for your birthday, you would have known that.”

“Well, that’s just stupid,” she decided. “I could just cut your finger off and steal the car.”

“Jarvis would know if you chopped off my finger. It would self-destruct.”

“Should we test it?”

I listened to this for a few more minutes before Tony went off in search of his tie and Clara appeared at the door. She slid the screen open and stepped out onto the deck. She was wearing a simple black dress that probably cost more than my computer. Her hair was done up all neat and professional, but she looked beautiful like always. I realized how awful I must have looked in my hoodie with my tangled hair.

“We’re about to leave. Are you sure you don’t want to come?” she asked, setting a hand on the glass railing to balance herself and adjust a strappy shoe. I snorted.

“I wouldn’t even go out to the mailbox looking like this,” I remarked.

“We can make a pit-stop at a salon. Or I could always just chop off Tony’s finger and come back for you when you’re done getting ready.”

“I don’t really feel like going anywhere.”

“I know. I was just hoping my joke might change your mind. Or maybe just the thought of Tony missing a finger.” I laughed shortly.

“It’s tempting, but I wouldn’t want you to blow up.” She waved the idea away and looked out over the ocean.

“He’s just bluffing. And if he isn’t—I bet you he’s telling Jarvis to disable that function right now. Just in case he thinks I’m serious.” I shook my head and smiled.

“I’ll pass. Tony can keep his finger for another day.”

“Well, I suppose I can find another reason. Call me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

“I’ll see you later.”

I waved goodbye, and she disappeared into the house, closing the screen door behind her. They bickered a bit more before the front door shut and the house fell silent. Even being on the opposite side of the house and so close to the ocean, the sound of Tony’s car engine rose up above everything else. I waited to hear it zoom down the driveway before getting up.

The sun was setting, and my battery was starting to die. So I stood and stretched. I’d seen too many sunsets since coming to Malibu. Steve said he wanted me to join his search for Bucky as soon as my doctor gave the okay. The only problem was that my doctor wouldn’t. Physical therapy was taking much longer this time. But I also hadn’t shattered a bone the first time.

My presence was putting a strain on Clara and Tony’s relationship. Clara’s home was in New York, but she stayed in Malibu for me. And it bothered Tony that she was only there for me, even though he acted like he liked having me around. I still felt like he’d rather not see me parked out on his deck every afternoon.

I decided another sunset over the ocean wasn’t a good enough reason to let my battery die. So I collected my laptop and returned to the house and the air conditioner. The computer’s charger was plugged into a power station in the center of the coffee table, even though Tony hated my “dinosaur” machine and offered to give me a new one. I sat down and plugged it in, just in time to save it.

“Hey, Jarvis?” I asked.

“Yes, Miss Hayes?” the disembodied voice answered.

“Could you turn the AC back on?”

“The air conditioning has been pre-set to a comfortable sixty-two degrees. Would you like me to change it?”

“No, that’s fine. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Hayes.”

“Is there any water in the fridge?”

“The upstairs refrigerator was stocked just yesterday.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Hayes.”

The walk from the living room to the kitchen took a ridiculous amount of time for one open room. The kitchen was too big. The living room was too big. And Tony didn’t even spend all his time in that house. But they’d given me a place to stay so I wouldn’t complain.

I pulled the fridge open, but the light didn’t turn on. So I reached up to press the toggle button, but it still didn’t come back on. It wasn’t humming either.

“Uh—Jarvis?” I asked. There was no response. I shut the fridge and listened to the quiet house. All she could hear was the roar of the ocean and the call of seagulls. Even the AC was quiet.

Tony’s house was never supposed to be without power. He never had to worry about unpaid bills and his backup generators had back up generators. It was built so that even if the power did go out, the solar panels would still keep the place running for a while.

The only way the power could go off was if someone shut it off intentionally. Jarvis was also supposed to override that action. So if Jarvis wasn’t getting it back on, it meant a line was cut. The only thing that gave me any comfort was that Jarvis would undoubtedly alert Tony from his car, and he hadn’t been gone for very long.

I swiveled around, and just as expected, a figure was standing by the back door. He was dressed in his full suit, eyes and mouth covered now. The only part of him left exposed was the metal arm, which was clenched in a fist at his side.

I told myself that if I saw Bucky again, I wouldn’t be afraid, and I wouldn’t run. But I also didn’t know what kind of frame of mind he’d be in. I couldn’t connect with him through a mask. He was still and silent. My heart was beating in my chest. I took a cautious step forward.

“Bucky?”

He had a weapon clutched in his right hand. He lifted it in my direction, and I jumped behind the counter to shield myself. The weapon didn’t fire, and I crouched behind the counter, clutching my pounding heart.

He appeared around the other side and lifted the weapon again. I bolted out from my cover and made a run for the front door. I didn’t know where the hell I’d go, but it seemed like the right choice to make. The weapon fired with a click and a swish. A wire shot around my ankle and knocked me to the floor hard. He yanked me toward him, sliding me across the smooth floor.

“Bucky, please?” I shouted, throwing up my hands. He paused and stood over me. “It’s me. It’s Jo. Please tell me you remember. You know me. You don’t have to do this. I can help you.”

I hoped my plea was getting through to him, but he only paused for a moment before the metal hand slammed into my throat. My breath caught in a strangled gag and I struggled uselessly to get his hand off of me. I kicked my feet and hit his arms, but nothing worked. I reached for his face on instinct, dug my fingers in, and the mask fell away. His eyes were dark and focused as if he wasn’t seeing me at all, let alone recognizing me.

“Let her go,” a voice said along with the familiar sound of Tony’s suit powering up as he prepped to fire.

A bright light shot from the center of his palm and hit Bucky in the chest. He went flying into the kitchen, crashing into everything on his way down. But he was back on his feet in an instant and came barreling toward Tony. I was still struggling to breathe as they waged war against each other. Tony threw Bucky toward the sliding glass door and raised his hand to fire again. But I jumped between them.

“Tony!” I gasped, putting my hands up. “Stop—don’t hurt him.” Both men froze. The Iron mask stared at me, and even though Tony’s face wasn’t visible his disbelief was palpable.

“He tried to kill you,” he stated.

“He wasn’t trying to kill me. Hydra was. Bucky was just the weapon, and if he wanted to kill me, I’d be dead. He could have crushed my throat or shot me and left.”

“Stop making excuses for him, Jo. He’s Hydra’s attack dog.”

“Exactly! He’s innocent!”

“He’s beyond saving. The sooner you realize that, the better for all of us.”

“Just let me talk to him. Please?”

“He’s not here to talk. He came to kill you. Probably Clara and me too. Is that…?”

Tony had one suit that acted without his instructions. It was set to protect him if he was under stress. I'd never seen it in action, but I heard about it when he fought the Mandarin and sent a whole fleet of them to help.

The sound of a suit prepping for fire interrupted Tony’s sentence. We both turned to look at where it stood in the hall with its arm raised and prepped for an attack.

“No, no, no, no!” Tony shouted, but it was too late. The suit was aiming for Bucky, the threat, and I was right in front of him.

Bucky swiveled, blocking me from the blast. It hit him in the space between his shoulder blades and sent the both of us crashing through the screen door and out onto the deck. Glass shattered and the next thing I knew, there was nothing beneath me but air and open water.

“Tony!” I screamed, scrambling to catch the broken railing. I was lying on the screen as it slid off the deck.

Broken glass pressed into my skin as I tried to grasp what was left of the railing to keep myself up. The movement sent ripples of pain down my arm. The glass snapped under my skin. I lost my hold and dropped. But suddenly, metal wrapped around my wrist and his face hovered above mine, stern with determination.

“Tell me what you know,” he demanded as I dangled above the ocean, hanging on by nothing but his hand around my wrist.

“What?” I shouted, one second away from complete hysteria.

“Let her go!” Tony yelled from the deck. If I dropped again, Tony could probably catch me before I hit the water. But I didn’t like my odds or painful position. My wrist was dripping blood from where the glass had broken through the skin, and my bad shoulder was taking up all of my weight.

“Tell me what you know about me. You called me by a name,” Bucky repeated. My heart was hammering in my ribcage, and there was too much strain on my shoulder. I could barely think through the pain, let alone answer.

“I-I-Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. I called you Bucky. That’s your nickname. You’re from Brooklyn, New York. Your best friend was Steven Rogers. You fought together. In the war. Against Hydra.”

“Tell me something only you would know!” he said, shaking me and making me shriek as my legs swung freely through the air.

“Okay! Okay! I know—I know about your fall from the train! You told me you remembered lying in the snow! Bleeding! Screaming for help! Half your arm was severed!”

“Something about you!”

“I’m trying!” I screamed. “You told me no one else knew you remembered it! You said that when they came for you, you thought it was Steve, and that was the last moment you remember being truly happy before you met me! You told me this the night before Hydra came back for you! You said what happened between us was real! You put your hand over my heart, and you said it was real!”

Before I could finish, he yanked me back onto the deck, practically launching me toward the broken door. I slid across chunks of glass and clutched at my aching shoulder. Bucky was back on his feet, stomping toward me, crunching glass beneath his boots. I looked up as he approached.

“Why did you block me from him?” he asked. I wrapped my hand around the cut on my wrist. Blood oozed out from between my fingers.

“I didn’t want him to hurt you,” I admitted.

“You care about me.”

“Yes.”

“Why do they want you alive?” He stepped toward me, and Tony’s suit prepped to defend me again. But he stayed back so I could get the conversation I asked for. I had no doubt he’d launch Bucky into the sea if he went after me again.

“Because I was important to you once? Because the last time you got free I helped you regain your sense of self. I helped you remember.”

“No,” he said as he stepped closer. He was just above me now. The sun was setting behind him, and the light was so bright I couldn’t make out most of his features. “They want you for something else. Something big. They called you ‘The Vessel.’”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“You said you were important to me,” he asked.

I shifted to get back on my feet. He was taller than me, but I could see his eyes more clearly this way. Even with the sun behind him. I reached for his right hand. He flinched but allowed me to take it. I pressed it against my chest where my heart was still pounding.

“You told me that—being with me made you feel comfortable enough to remember yourself,” I explained. “And that night—when you told me about falling from the train, you put your hand on my heart, and you said that’s how you knew it was real. What was between us. That was the first and last night we spent together, and you kept your hand over my heart most of the night. It was the last thing you did before you left and they took you again. You promised you’d find me.”

He looked away as if I’d finally said something that made sense. He kept his hand over my heart, and I wanted to reach out and hold him again. Gentleness worked before, but he jerked away from me when I moved. He snarled and returned to the house, passing Tony without a glance.

“Bucky, don’t go,” I said, following him. He headed for the front door and stopped in the foyer. Then he turned to look back at me. His eyes were still dark and cold, but not blank.

“They want you for something,” he told me. “If I were you—I’d get ready to face them.” I shook my head.

“I don’t know what they want me for.”

“You said I made you a promise.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Then I’ll keep it.” He turned back toward the door. “I just want to find out why.” He yanked the door open and slammed it behind himself.

I took a moment to collect my thoughts. My heart was still thumping wildly in my chest, and my mind was whirring. I wasn’t entirely sure what Bucky meant. I just hoped he was asking questions. Maybe that’s why he’d been so quick to save my life. Maybe that’s why my cheesy speech seemed to get through to him.

I leaned against the couch, bleeding and bruised and aching all over. But I felt alive again. I didn’t want to go back to hiding out on the couch all day on a laptop. I didn’t even want to sit at a desk or wait tables. I didn’t know what I wanted. Just that it wasn’t in Malibu.

“You’re bleeding all over my sofa,” Tony remarked, breaking me out of my thoughts. I looked down at the cut on my arm.

“It’s your fault for buying a house with glass railings,” I retorted.

“I see the flaw in that now.”

“Will you give me a lift?”

“Where? I kind of left your sister stranded on the side of the road.” I pushed away from the couch and wrapped the sleeve of my shirt around the wound.

“Just to the hospital to get this stitched. I can’t do it one-handed.”

“Good idea. I was afraid you were going to say something stupid. Like you wanted to go after him.” I winced from all the new aches and pains as I turned back to him. He’d lifted the mask so I could see his face. I wasn’t like Tony. I didn’t have a cool suit or a Project Falcon, but I knew someone who did.

“Of course I want to go after him,” I said. “But I’m not dumb enough to think I’d succeed right now. I’ll find a way to get him to come to me."

“That’s a lot for one person to do, Jo.”

“That’s why I’m not going to do it alone.” I groaned as I shuffled away from him and went to find my phone.

“And they say I’m nuts,” he muttered. I found the phone and moved toward the garage.

“Hello?” the person on the other end answered.

“Sam, hi. It’s Jo. I have a favor to ask you.” I could tell he was smiling.

“Anything you need,” he replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is like the mother of all cliffhangers, but I made it that way specifically so it would lead into the sequel. So if there had been no sequel at all, I would have undoubtedly left you with a more uplifting final chapter. Lololol.
> 
> So I hope you liked it? Um... I want to say a super big thanks to everyone for all of the comments and stuff.
> 
> *Edit* I also wanted to point out that Bucky being an orphan is from comic-canon. I'm not sure if it's movie canon because Steve and Bucky were both orphans. But in movie canon Steve's mom didn't die until he was already an adult, and their Bucky page says he's the oldest of multiple siblings. I'm not entirely 100% sure because I didn't get into Captain America until the movies because I was, in my younger days, a big slut for X-Men.
> 
> Also, the sequel is called Hell Bound and it is up and completed.


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